


District of (un-)Certainty

by jamgrl



Series: The District of (un-)Certainty Universe [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Banter, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Pining, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Slow Burn, Some philosophizing, United States, Washington D.C., millenials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-09-25 00:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20367931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl
Summary: Aziraphale is a PhD student who needs a roommate so he can continue to afford his house in the U.S. capital of Washington D.C. Luckily, the family he tutors for on the side just happened to find him one! He doesn’t think he will like him much since he is in the states to work on Mr. Dowling’s senate campaign, so he’s probably a terrible person (even if he is good looking).Crowley is pretty independent and doesn’t really have a lot of what you would call “friends”. But he doesn’t mind his new roommate. He would much rather hang out with him than his coworkers, anyways. His roommate’s best friends Anathema and Newt aren’t too bad, either. It’s nice to have some friends. Maybe he likes it in D.C.---They are millenials! But still British and still old fashioned- just a little twist on our favorite husbands.





	1. A New Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter AU: I am very excited about it! Please let me know what you think in the comments as I add new chapters! 
> 
> I will be updating 2x a week, though I am a grad student and the semester is starting, so it may not always be the same day.
> 
> I used to live in the D.C. area, so I have had a lot of fun having our characters visit real places. I'll put info in notes at the end about locations when applicable.
> 
> Everyone, other than Crowley and Aziraphale, is American.
> 
> Rated Mature for implied sexual content and foul language.  


“I’m afraid I am going to have to get a roommate,” Aziraphale said.

“I wish I could get my parents to lower the rent more, I really wish I could, Az! But the rent is very low as it is for this part of town and you know how they are-”

“No, no, I know it has nothing to do with you, Anathema. Thank you for trying so hard to have them keep the rent this low. I’m not sure how I would get by, otherwise.”

Aziraphale and Anathema were sitting on barstools in the small kitchen of the old rickety two-bedroom house. Nestled in Alexandria, Virginia just across the Potomac from Washington D.C. (easily reached by metro), this house was a hot commodity. Rent prices in the D.C. area were notoriously high, so finding something reasonably affordable for a graduate student living only on a graduate student stipend and extra cash from tutoring was an impressive feat. Aziraphale was, however, running low on his savings after living in D.C. for two years and was feeling uncertain about how he would manage for three more.

“A roommate wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe whoever it is could get you to be more social!”

Aziraphale was less than pleased by that idea. He was perfectly happy with his current (albeit sparse) social life. And he rather liked having a house to himself. But, it couldn’t be helped. Not if he wanted to stay in this location.

~ ~ ~

“This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Mr. Crowley! You would be very well taken care of here.” Thaddeus Dowling had a way of convincing people to do what he wanted. That way had something to do with dollar signs. It wasn’t Thaddeus Dowling on the phone- no, he was far too busy. This was his personal assistant, Hastur Vista, who Crowley didn’t much like, but then again, who in politics can anyone really like?

“D.C.? Really?”

“The work you did for us in London when we were there- well, let’s just say everyone loved you out there. Now you can reap the reward.”

“I’ve never even been out of the country-”

“Are you going to stay in London your whole life? If you want a political career, you need to be willing to travel. This is your moment! Your scene! Your starring role!”

“You’re asking me to be there on very short notice-”

“Luckily for you, the Dowling boy’s tutor happens to be looking for a roommate. We already booked you a plane ticket. See you Monday.” With that, Crowley heard the line go dead.

He guessed he’d better start packing. There wasn’t actually much else going on for him career-wise at the moment, anyways, and he didn’t have a lot of attachments in London. He supposed it would be an adventure. Something new, anyways.

~ ~ ~

[Anathema]

Today 2:13PM

| 

The Dowlings found me a roommate! Can you believe it?

Someone coming here to work on Mr. Dowling’s senate campaign.  
  
---|---  
  
Wow, that was fast!

|   
  
| 

He’s coming from London. I suppose if I must have a roommate,

it could be nice to have someone from home around.

It can be lonely being away from one’s home country, you know.  
  
Ohh, I hope he does help you with that loneliness 

|   
  
| 

You stop that!  
  
Just sayin

You could use a little fun

Do you know what he looks like?

|   
  
| 

No!

He will be arriving very soon, though.

I would prefer it if you didn’t insinuate anything in front of him.

I’m not looking for anything right now, anyways  
  
Fine. But you have to let me at least set you up on a dating app.

|    
  
  
| 

Absolutely not.  
  
You are no fun.

|   
  
| 

Am too!  
  
Still on for Queer Eye tomorrow night?

|   
  
| 

Of course, dear.

Bring wine.  
  
~ ~ ~

The Uber driver helped Crowley get his bags out of the trunk outside of the house in Alexandria. He had a large rolling suitcase, a duffle, and one of those ridiculous hanger bags that contained his suits. Luckily, the place was fully furnished.

Crowley was exhausted. It was only just getting dark out in Virginia, but it must have been something like 2AM back in London. The sun was barely out anymore, and yet it was still hot and muggy. He had heard rumors about August in the mid-Atlantic. He was not excited to have them proven true.

The Uber driver had left him on the curb with all his luggage, so now the only thing to do was to slowly hobble up the driveway with all his stuff, trying his best not to drop anything. (The sun was barely out, but he still wore sunglasses because he wasn’t sure where to store them that didn’t stand the risk of letting them be smashed and his hands were full as it was.) He knew his new roommate would be inside- they had exchanged a few emails- but Crowley was too proud to ask for help. No, he would carry all of the luggage up by himself and in one go, no need for assistance.

He would make it across the grass on the unstable rock pathway, he would make it up the steep wooden porch steps, and he would finagle the rusty doorknob, unstuck the humidity swollen door, and push himself into the house _on his own_.

Once over the entryway, Crowley let his luggage drop onto the hardwood floor in a clunk. The only thing his brain had capacity to think about was the relief of releasing those bags and the feeling of the cool embrace of air conditioning surrounding him. After catching his breath, he opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a plush tattered couch holding a woman with long dark hair in a half bun and a man with striking white blonde curly hair, both of whom were looking right at him. They were holding glasses of what seemed to be some kind of girly pink wine and were in lounge wear. Crowley was vaguely aware of the flickering light and sound of a television. The front door went straight into the living room, he guessed.

“Uh, hey. I’m Anthony Crowley?” He was thankful the v-neck he was wearing was black- it would probably be hiding the sweat he was drenched in. He made a mental note that maybe jeans weren’t appropriate for August in D.C. At least they had been okay for the freezing cold 8-hour flight.

The blonde man had jumped up and was now standing in front of Crowley with his hand outstretched, a wide and friendly smile on his face. Crowley wiped his hand on his jeans before shaking the man’s hand.

“I’m Aziraphale. We communicated via email. Welcome!”

The woman had followed behind and was waving warmly.

“I’m Anathema. I live next door.”

“Yes, Anathema is also the landlord, so she is a good person to talk to if you have any problems with your room.”

“Well, my parents are really the landlords, but they are all the way in Malibu, so I sort of act as landlord. I’m really chill, though, I promise!”

Crowley looked at them blankly, uncertain of what to do. It was a bit too much talking for him to handle at the moment. They had also boxed him in at the door.

“Oh! We’ll help you with your bags and show you to your room!” Aziraphale grabbed hold of the large suitcase.

“Oh, I’m okay-”

“Nonsense!” Aziraphale was already hauling the bag up a narrow staircase. Anathema had picked up the duffle. Crowley followed after them (with his ridiculous suit bag) up the narrow steps to a small bedroom. The room was almost entirely filled by a queen-sized bed with old fashioned covers and plush looking pillows, but there was also an old desk and a wooden dresser shoved into the room. The corner of the bed held a neatly folded bath towel.

“We have to share a bathroom, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said from the center of the room, once the bags had been placed at the foot of the bed. “It’s just across the hall. You are welcome to use my soap and whatever is in there tonight since you just got here.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Crowley responded awkwardly from the doorway, still holding the suits.

“We’ll be out of your way, then! We’ll just be downstairs if you need anything!” Crowley let the two strangers get past him and then laid his suits across the desk before collapsing face forward on the bed. He thought he heard a muttered “He’s cute!” and a “Shh!” in response amid the sound of creaking stairs.

His next thought was that he probably should shower, but sleep overtook him before he could think about it much further.

~ ~ ~

Crowley woke up fully clothed, sunglasses askew, twisted and rolled up in the bed cover. The cover was a quilt that he had apparently not gotten under but had rather pulled up from where it had been hanging over the side of the bed and draped over himself. The lights were bright, and he could feel drool on his face. It was pitch black outside the windows. He felt like a mess. It was a good thing he had a few days to get over the jet lag. He looked around for a clock and saw a digital one on a bedside table to the right of the bed. It read 3:54.

Crowley managed to untangle himself from the covers and find the bath towel, which had been kicked to the floor. He wandered into the dark hallway and felt for doors on the opposite side. He was pleased to find that the first door he tried was the bathroom- he would have been mortified if he had opened his new roommate’s door by mistake. When Crowley’s hand managed to find the light switch, he saw that the bathroom was small and cramped, but it had baby blue bathmats and a blue and yellow vertically striped shower curtain. There was a matching blue bath towel neatly folded over the towel rack and a small hand towel hung through a loop over the tiny single person sink.

Crowley didn’t bother looking at himself in the mirror over the sink- he didn’t want to see the state he was in. Instead, he shed his clothes and made his way to the shower. It took a while for the water the heat up, but when he got in, it was such a refreshing relief. He used the combination body wash-shampoo that was sitting along the side of the tub. It some kind of weird gender neutral environmentally friendly stuff. It smelled nice.

When he made it back to his room, he scrounged in his bags for a T-shirt and old rugby shorts. He tried for a little while to go back to sleep- he had heard you should try to sleep according to the time of your destination to get over jet lag- but it was impossible. At least he could try and get some unpacking done.

~ ~ ~

At 7AM, Aziraphale was already up and fully dressed, in a powder blue polo and his white vineyard vines shorts that had the little pink whales, making himself a cup of tea. It wasn’t unusual for him to be up this early on a Saturday, but he may not have usually gotten dressed so soon. He had company, now, though, and the last thing he wanted was to be in an uncomfortable situation.

After finishing watching Queer Eye the previous night, Anathema had stayed a bit longer to tease Aziraphale about his new roommate. He had to admit that he _was_ cute, but there was no reason to get into a tizzy about it. He was merely here to help offset the rent and it was probably best if the two kept to themselves. Whoever this man was, he was a political type and that probably wasn’t someone Aziraphale could get on with, in all honesty. At least, probably not this one. He knew Thaddeus Dowling and he doubted whether he hired the most upright citizens to work on his political campaigns. 

Aziraphale was just settling into the kitchen table with his tea and his latest novel when the mysterious red-haired man in question appeared at the kitchen entryway. He looked a bit disheveled and was dressed casually. He was wearing sunglasses like he had a hangover, which, maybe he did. Or maybe it was jetlag. He was also in... rugby shorts. Aziraphale had forgotten how much he liked watching the rugby players back home. Not for any particular reason, mind you, but, come to think of it, rugby uniforms did leave rather less to the imagination than many American sports uniforms. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice that his new roommate’s legs were lean and muscular.

Oh, this _could_ be a problem_._

Aziraphale realized that the man was still standing there awkwardly and Aziraphale had just been staring at him silently. Remembering himself, he tried to put on his most pleasant smile.

“Good morning! Do sit down. Would you like any tea?” Aziraphale gently closed his book and set it on the table, standing as the man took the seat across from him.

“Um. Yes. Thank you.”

Aziraphale rifled through the cabinets in the little kitchen and pulled out a second teacup. “Earl Grey alright? I’ve already made some.” 

“That’s fine.”

“Oh, good!” Aziraphale returned with a cup of tea and settled back into his seat. He glanced at his novel but thought it really would be rude not to strike up some conversation.

“So, Anthony, yes?”

“I prefer to go by Crowley, actually.”

“Oh. Alright. Crowley, then. I just go by Aziraphale. No nickname to speak of. A mouthful, I know-” Aziraphale realized he was beginning to babble and cut himself short, feeling some heat in his cheeks.

“That’s an interesting name.” The man seemed pleasant enough.

“Yes, well, I was named after a book character. My parents are rather eccentric…” Aziraphale trailed off and the man nodded understandingly. 

“I like it, though. You are a tutor, right?”

“Well, yes, but that is really more of a side thing? I’m a PhD student at Georgetown University.”

“Oh! What are you studying?” His eyebrows were arched in interest. Was he genuinely interested? He seemed like it. Maybe this was how people normally interacted. It was possible Aziraphale’s usual company was not particularly skilled socially. It was possible _Aziraphale_ was not particularly skilled socially.

“Theology and Religious Studies.”

“Huh. I took a religion class at university. It was an early Abrahamic religion class, all about Genesis. God’s not very nice in that book, is He?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “No, I suppose not.”

“Come to think of it, I took a Government and Religion class, too. I studied Political Science, you see.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose that rather makes sense, considering.”

They smiled awkwardly at each other and each nursed their tea, neither continuing the conversation.

Aziraphale supposed a moment was only awkward if you decided it was awkward, but it was a bit impossible not to find this one awkward. 

“Are you- are you hungry?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh- I can just go for a walk, nip by somewhere-”

“We aren’t really near anything, actually. We aren’t in the city, proper, you know. And the public transportation here- well. It’s really no bother, I know you haven’t been able to do any shopping! We could have eggs, no trouble, really.”

The man was looking at him with confusion and uncertainty on his face. 

“Do you eat eggs? They’re free range.”

“Yes, I eat eggs. Sorry, I suppose this is all just rather foreign. I haven’t traveled much.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, it is quite different here, I’m afraid. But lucky you ended up with me, really, since I have an idea of what it’s like to come from the other side of the pond, so to speak.” Aziraphale began puttering about, getting out ingredients for a breakfast scramble for the both of them. “You must be very good at what you do if you were flown all the way out here.”

The man shrugged. “I’m alright. I hope I made the right choice coming here.”

“I’m sure you will do just fine.”

It was odd, Aziraphale usually treasured quiet mornings to be alone with his books, but something about this man intrigued him. He didn’t _seem_ rude or mean or even arrogant, as Aziraphale half expected him to be. Then again, only time would tell.

Aziraphale would be as kind as necessitated by social decorum and would leave it at that. Best not to get too mixed up in it.


	2. Sauntering Vaguely

Crowley thought his new roommate seemed nice enough, though a bit odd. He was a bit prim and proper, but he was also very helpful. They were all helpful, so far. Crowley didn’t have access to any form of transportation, and he needed to do shopping, but Aziraphale had introduced him to the other next-door neighbor who lived with the Anathema woman, Newt. Apparently, Aziraphale didn’t have a car but rode with Newt to and from campus. Newt was happy to take Crowley to the store, so next thing he knew, he was sitting in the passenger seat of a really stupid looking robin egg blue hatchback. It was odd sitting on what felt like the driver’s side without driving.

They didn’t have much to talk about on the trip to and from the store. Newt didn’t seem like a particularly chatty person and that suited Crowley just fine. Crowley had been slightly worried when Newt had introduced his car as “Dick Turpin”, but when Crowley pretended not to hear him, he didn’t bring it up again.

Instead of talking, Crowley ruminated on the new job he would be starting on Monday. He had worked for Mr. Dowling at the U.S. Embassy when he was in London as part of his press team. He supposed he must have impressed him, though he was always flying by the seat of his pants. He supposed he was good at flying by the seat of his pants. The problem with the others was that none of them had a creative bone in their bodies. Crowley was good at spinning things. That was how he had gotten the press position just from being an intern. So, maybe a political campaign was up his alley. 

When they arrived back at the house, Newt helped Crowley carry in his shopping, which was all stuffed into the reusable bags Aziraphale had insisted he take, before parting ways. Standing alone in the foreign kitchen with stuffed bags, Crowley realized he wasn’t sure where to put everything. They would have to keep their food separate. When he opened the cabinets, though, it would seem that Aziraphale had already thought of that. Each cabinet containing food had its contents neatly pushed to one side so half of the space was available. Crowley supposed it was good to be living with someone so organized. Less likelihood of conflict.

Where was Aziraphale, anyways? Crowley wanted to get to know him. He wanted to have some friends while he was here and he figured that if his coworkers were anything like those back at the Embassy, he would want those friends to be from outside of work. It didn’t seem like there was anybody else in the house, though, so Crowley figured he might as well explore the place.

There was the little kitchen with a breakfast bar and two bar stools, and the small round wooden kitchen table with four chairs, where he and Aziraphale had eaten breakfast that morning. Behind the table was a sliding door leading out to a screen porch that had some comfy looking outdoor furniture. There was some yard beyond the porch and even some woods. If it weren’t so bloody hot outside, it might be a nice place to sit.

Other than that, the only unexplored parts of the first floor were a little laundry room, a half bath, and a coat closet by the door. Curiosity got the better of him and he tiptoed his way up the steps, even though he was absolutely certain by now that no one else was in the house. The only unexplored doors were a set of accordion doors, which were probably a hall closet, and another door beyond Crowley’s. Feeling slightly guilty, but not letting that stop him, Crowley made his way to that door. He pulled it open just a centimeter and checked there was no one there before opening it a bit wider to get a better look. 

It was very similar to Crowley’s room, except it looked much more lived in. There were several bookshelves overflowing with books lining the walls- getting those to fit must have taken a miracle. Considering how neat everything had been so far, Crowley was surprised to see the bed unmade and littered with dirty clothes. The desk was equally messy, being covered in textbooks and notebooks. Crowley noticed that there was a little rainbow flag sticking out of a pencil holder on the desk- one of those flags you get handed at parades. There was also a decorative cross on the wall above the desk. Crowley thought that might be a bit of funny juxtaposition, but what did he know? He wasn’t particularly religious- he mostly thought of religion as tool for politics and power. But then, he thought, perhaps a theology student _must_ be religious.

Crowley thought he heard something from downstairs and he quickly shut the door. He went down to investigate but didn’t find anything. He was probably just being overly paranoid due to his snooping. 

He really didn’t know what else to do to pass the time. He hadn’t been given any information for work, he had already unpacked, and now he was alone in this house.

~ ~ ~

Aziraphale had spent the day at the Dowling’s residence with Warlock, who was an 11-year old boy, who was, honestly, a pill, and who was not taking his summer reading seriously. When the car the Dowling’s family sent dropped Aziraphale home around 5PM, he was feeling excited to have some personal recharge time at home when he remembered that he couldn’t very well have that as he was no longer alone. He begrudgingly entered the house to find Crowley draped across the couch watching television. Crowley seemed to perk up upon his entrance, pausing the television. Aziraphale realized this was his first time seeing him without sunglasses. He had very nice hazel eyes. He also had a curious little snake tattoo just where a sideburn might be.

“Hullo, Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale smiled weakly. “Hello, Crowley. Have an alright day?”

“Mostly boring, but that Newt fellow was helpful. Thanks.”

“Ah, well I’m sure you will be busy soon enough. And, you are welcome, of course,” Aziraphale said, depositing his messenger bag and shoes haphazardly by the door.

“I hope you don’t mind- I’m using your Netflix account since you’re already logged in.”

“Oh, that’s alright. It’s actually Anathema’s account. I don’t watch much television except for when she is here, but she is happy to let me use it. I’m certain that the same would extend to you.” Aziraphale made his way to the kitchen to pour himself some water and consider cooking himself something for dinner. He heard the television resume as he collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs.

After some time, he supposed he really ought to get up and make himself some dinner. He had some veggies. A pasta wouldn’t be too difficult. As he started getting out ingredients, he thought about Crowley. He popped his head through the kitchen entryway to the living room.

“Er, Crowley?”

Crowley looked up. 

“Yes?”

“Have you anything for dinner? I mean, I’m cooking-”

“Oh, thanks, but I ate.”

“You ate?” Aziraphale furrowed his brows. “It’s very early!”

“Yes, well, I’m still adjusting to the time, and all.”

“Oh, yes, right, right, of course.”

Aziraphale could hear dramatic music coming from the television and caught a glimpse of a rather horrifying image on the screen involving a small body on a beach. “What on Earth are you watching?”

“This? This is episode 1 of Broadchurch.”

“Broadchurch?”

“Yes. Are you telling me you never saw it? It aired ages ago on public television. What, you didn’t have a tv license in London?”

“Well, as I said, I don’t watch much television.” 

At this point, a woman had entered the screen and was screaming, being held back by police officers. 

“This is horrifying!”

“Well it’s a detective show. Or, maybe more a murder mystery. That’s the mother, there.” Aziraphale huffed and returned to the kitchen to put together his dinner. Though, as much as he felt a distaste toward whatever it was on the television, he was a tad curious. When the pasta was cooking and he had veggies in the oven, he peeked his head around the kitchen entryway again. “And who are they, then?” 

“Those are the reporters. The young one is trying to prove himself.”

The scene changed.

“Oh. And now, them? Those are the detectives?”

“Yes. She is from this town and has never worked on a murder case before and he is a seasoned detective from out of town, but he is sort of hiding out because he failed on a case recently and never convicted a killer.”

“Oh. Hmm.” Aziraphale went back to preparing his dinner. When he had made himself a plate, he stood with it in the entryway, watching the television. “That woman looks rather suspicious, doesn’t she?”

“You know, you _could _just sit down and watch with me. It would be much better than you interrupting constantly.”

Aziraphale thought about it. He didn’t usually like watching television, and he wasn’t sure if he would like something that potentially depicted violence, but he certainly couldn’t read with something so distracting on. 

“I suppose I could.” Aziraphale entered the room and settled into the armchair to the left of the couch, taking care to hold his pasta plate carefully as he ate. He ate silently, watching the show for a bit.

“That gentleman is one of the detectives?”

“Yes. That’s D.I. Hardy.”

“Do you know, I think he rather looks like you.”

Crowley scoffed. “He doesn’t look _anything _like me.” He paused the show to sit up and face Aziraphale. Aziraphale pursed his lips and gave him a side-glance.

“If you say so,” he said, shifting his shoulders pompously.

“He has got to be in his forties.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him now, trying not to look amused.

“Why are you acting insulted? A man in his forties can be handsome.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, but are you saying I look like I’m in my forties?”

“_No_. Age has nothing to do with it. I’m saying he looks like you. Or perhaps, rather you look like him, since he is older, as you pointed out. But if you prefer, should I say that you could be his younger brother? Son? Only, he really _can’t _be _that_ old.”

“Whatever.” Crowley laid back down on the couch, rolling on his side to face the television, and pressed play. 

After a moment, Crowley spoke again, without pausing the show or looking away from the screen. “So, you think I’m handsome, then?”

“Oh, _really. _Now I’m really not sure why I agreed to watch this with you.”

“I’m just kidding around! Come on, you have to watch it!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he stayed put. The show was surprisingly intriguing. 

They went on to watch a second episode and, about halfway through, Aziraphale turned to ask Crowley a question about what was going on only to find that Crowley seemed to have fallen asleep on the couch. It was only about 6:45.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do, since he couldn’t very well carry the man up to his room.

He got up and gently pried the remote from Crowley’s hand, turning the television off before setting the remote on the coffee table. Aziraphale stood looking at Crowley for a moment, fidgeting with his hands and wondering if he should put a blanket over him like they do in the movies. Except, he didn’t look very cold and Aziraphale didn’t want to risk waking him up. It would be a bit embarrassing to be caught tucking in someone he hardly knew. He settled for placing a throw blanket near Crowley’s hand so that it would be near him if he needed it. With that, he put away his dirty dish and retreated to his bedroom with a book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard of [Broadchurch](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2249364/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1)


	3. Ineffability

Crowley was cursing the blasted sun as he biked through Alexandria. It was the last day of his first week on the new job and he was biking back from the metro station in a full suit. He had been uncertain when Anathema had insisted he borrow her bike on Monday- he felt a little ridiculous- surely James Bond wouldn’t be caught riding around on a bicycle- but when he had arrived at the station that day, he was relieved to see lots of other people in business wear tying up bikes and heading for the train. So, the bike had become his mode of transportation.

At least it wasn’t hot in the mornings. Now, for the 5th time this week, Crowley was cursing whoever it was that originally suggested that men should wear suits for work and also whoever thought it would be a good idea to put a nation’s capital in the middle of a bloody swamp.

When he finally reached the house after what felt like ages (it was probably only about 15 minutes), Crowley went around to the back of the house and deposited the bicycle on the screen porch, as had become his habit for the past week. Usually, when he entered the house, Aziraphale would be in the living room reading or else nowhere to be found (probably in his bedroom). Tonight, however, when Crowley walked into the kitchen from the screen porch, he came across a flour covered Aziraphale in a beige and yellow tartan apron, stirring something in a bowl he was hugging to his chest. It appeared that the kitchen counters were equally covered in flour. Really, there must have been more flour on Aziraphale and on the counters than in the bowl he was stirring.  
  
Aziraphale was startled by Crowley’s entrance, pausing his stirring and looking at him wide eyed. “Oh, hello!” He then looked around the room, a blush forming in his cheeks.

“Oh, dear,” he said, sheepishly. “I really had hoped I would have had this cleaned up before you got here.”

Crowley shrugged. He had only stopped because he thought he should greet him or something before he ran away to take a shower. “It’s your kitchen,” he said.

“Well, it’s rather our kitchen, now, isn’t it?” Aziraphale looked embarrassed. It was comical to see him like this with the disaster of flour around him, but otherwise Crowley was unfazed. It was only a matter of time before Aziraphale revealed his messy side- Crowley had seen his room and, based on that, developed the impression that Aziraphale was trying very hard to maintain a facade of neatness when it really wasn’t his natural state.

“It was your kitchen first.”

“Yes, that is true. I suppose it may take me some time to get used to sharing. I’m very sorry. I will have this back in tip top shape in no time!”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to go shower.”

Crowley didn’t want to be responsible for Aziraphale not feeling at home in his own house. Perhaps he would say as much after the shower. At the moment, however, he had a one-track mind.  
  
He had his own soaps and things at this point, but he had to admit that he had liked the smell of whatever it was Aziraphale had better. The shower was much needed. He stood in the shower for a while, letting the stream of water melt away any stress he had built up in his body.  
  
When he finally exited the shower feeling revitalized, Crowley figured it would probably be best to retreat to his room and give Aziraphale some space. After putting on his usual after work attire of a t-shirt and rugby shorts, he put on some music and lay back on his neatly made bed, his mind running through the events of the week.

As he had suspected, his coworkers were in the same vein of those he had back in the Embassy. Very uninteresting and possibly overcommitted to their jobs. In Crowley’s opinion, it wasn’t as if it really mattered if Mr. Dowling won the election or someone else. It wasn’t a state in danger of going red, and beyond that there was no material difference. All politicians were the same. Even the ones that seemed good were more concerned about lining their pockets than doing anything for the people.

Crowley hadn’t always thought that. He had gone into university very optimistic about the political sphere. He had wanted to make a difference, change the world or something. But now he felt like the whole thing was just a big game of chess in which the only winners were the rich and powerful and the best thing Crowley could do was position himself near those people to at least receive some benefit.

He was midway through his favorite Velvet Underground album when he heard a gentle knocking on his door. Pausing the music, he got up to open the door, finding Aziraphale, no longer in an apron but with some flour still on his face, looking at him shyly.

“I, um, well,” he was fidgeting slightly. “I had a craving, you see, and I rather made too much. I thought, perhaps, you may be interested- well, do you like crepes?”

“I’ve never had crepes,” Crowley replied, leaning against the door frame. He wasn’t sure he even really knew what crepes were. He thought they were French, though.

“Oh! Well, these perhaps aren’t the best example, but I think they’ve turned out alright-”

Crowley was feeling a bit bored anyways.

“It couldn’t hurt to try them.”

Aziraphale lit up.

Crowley followed Aziraphale down the steps to the kitchen where the table was laid with two plates and a stack of what must have been the crepes, a bowl of whipped cream, a bowl of mixed berries, and confectionary sugar.

Aziraphale demonstrated how to fill and wrap the crepes, dusting them with the sugar. They sat at the table together, eating. Crowley thought the crepes were very sweet, but he didn’t want to say anything negative, so he just said they were interesting.

“I had just been thinking about a holiday I took in the south of France a few years ago before I came here,” Aziraphale said over his third or fourth crepe. “It was so lovely! And I remembered the delicious crepes I had there. Have you been?”

“To the south of France?”

“Yes.”

“No. This is my first time out of Britain, actually.” Crowley felt a little embarrassed to admit that. He didn’t feel particularly worldly and he thought maybe he should be, considering he had been involved in foreign affairs for a while now.

“Oh! Well, when you are back, you really should take a trip! It’s absolutely marvelous and not at all hard to get to, what with the speed of trains these days.”

“Well, it may become a bit harder, soon,” Crowley said, thinking of the political turmoil the U.K. was currently embroiled in.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said seriously. “That’s right. What a pity. How in the world did everything get turned so upside down?”

“Well,” Crowley replied nonchalantly, “it’s just what happens when a politician has too much hubris. Which happens quite a lot, unfortunately.”

“What are you referring to? The referendum? Or Theresa May? Or Boris Johnson?”

“The referendum- that was the first mistake. But I suppose it applies to all of the bumbling thereafter, as well.”

“You know, I’m not sure how I feel about it. Because of course the result has been a complete disaster, but I do support Democracy, you know.”

“That’s why the referendum was a mistake. They can’t really go back on it, now, can they?”

“No, you are quite right.”

“Avoiding things like this is the whole reason to have a parliamentary system or a republic rather than Direct Democracy,” Crowley said, gesturing with his fork. “The point is for the people to choose people they trust to make the decisions because the average person doesn’t know enough to make the right ones.” Crowley moved to take another bite of his crepe. They tasted better the more he ate them. “At least, that’s how it should work, in theory. Problem is, no one knows who to trust because all these politicians and political parties run concentrated misinformation campaigns.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you are doing for Mr. Dowling?” Crowley froze with his fork halfway to his mouth and stared at Aziraphale wide eyed.

“Ah, there! You don’t deny it!” Aziraphale looked like he had caught a child with their hand in a cookie tin before dinner. Crowley was probably overly offended and probably shouldn’t have lashed out, but...

“And what about you? You are so much better? What are you doing with a theology degree? Planning on indoctrinating some unsuspecting people?”  
  
“What? No! My study is purely that of an academic sense. I would eventually like a post at a university.”  
  
“You’re connected to the Dowling’s, though. You’re the boy’s tutor!” Crowley slammed his fork on the table a tad too forcefully.  
  
“Yes, but that is entirely different. Warlock is a child. He is not responsible for his parents.”

“But you are still benefitting from the Dowlings’ money.”

Aziraphale looked aghast.

“Perhaps I don’t want to share my crepes anymore,” Aziraphale snapped, taking Crowley’s plate out from under him.

Crowley took a deep breath and tried to come back to his senses.

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale,” he said. “I shouldn’t have accused you like that.”

“Quite right!” Aziraphale said, dumping the contents of Crowley’s plate in the garbage and proceeding to hand wash it. “It is not my fault you have chosen a morally dubious profession,” he said icily, scrubbing the plate raw. “Some of us are actually trying our best. And yes, perhaps I could be complicit in certain things in some ways, but I hardly think that makes me evil.”

Crowley was surprised Aziraphale hadn’t broken the plate. It certainly didn’t need any more scrubbing. Figuring he ought to try to appease Aziraphale a bit, Crowley began fishing out tupperwares to put away the remaining crepe supplies. When Aziraphale had finally dried and put away the plate, he turned to see Crowley sitting at a cleared table. Crowley wondered if he should have snuck away when he’d had the chance, but then he saw that Aziraphale’s expression had softened upon seeing the cleaned table and felt relieved. Aziraphale sat back down at the table.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. “I hardly know you. I shouldn’t be making judgements like that.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re right. My profession is morally dubious,” Crowley admitted.

“Then why do you do it?” Aziraphale had genuine concern in his blue eyes- were they always that blue?

“Well, I suppose I just don’t think there is any way around it,” Crowley said matter-of-factly.

“You could support better candidates,” Aziraphale suggested.

“There’s no such thing,” Crowley countered.

“I’m afraid I don’t believe that,” Aziraphale said, skepticism thick in his voice.

“Well, that makes one of us.”

Aziraphale cocked his head at Crowley and hummed but didn’t push further. Crowley was thankful the subject had been dropped, but, for inexplicable reasons, he wanted to continue spending time with Aziraphale.

“Do you like red wine?” Crowley asked.

“Red wine?” Aziraphale looked perplexed.

“Yes. I bought some. Thought just now I ought to share it, you know, because of the crepes and breakfast last weekend-”

“Oh! I do happen to like red wine very much.”  
  
After some time, they found themselves in the living room, Crowley on the couch and Aziraphale on his armchair, each nursing the last of the bottle they were sharing between them. They weren’t drunk, really, but perhaps they were in that state one gets in late at night when tongues are loosened by the late hour and minds wander, all subjects of a philosophical nature on the table.  
  
“Do you ever think about how big the universe is?” Crowley asked. He was laying across the couch on his stomach, his chin resting on the couch arm nearest Aziraphale, an arm dangling off the side where he held his wine glass lazily. He looked up at Aziraphale waiting for an answer.

“I suppose,” Aziraphale responded, taking a sip of wine.

“It’s so damned big and we are so damned small. How can anything we do ever be significant?”

Aziraphale put his wine glass down on the coffee table and then hugged his knees to his chest, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“I think,” he said, “the size of the universe is a reminder that there are things out there bigger than ourselves and that’s beautiful.”

“What, like God?”

Aziraphale rested his chin on his knees. “Maybe God. But also just a plethora of unexplained possibilities.”

Crowley put his own wine down and sat up on his heels, hands resting on the couch arm.

“You believe in God, though, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Angels and Heaven, too?”

“I’m not sure about all that. But a greater force? Yes, absolutely.”

“I envy that.”

“What?” Aziraphale lifted his head, eyes flickering to meet Crowley’s.

“Faith.”

It was a bit overwhelming looking into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“You don’t believe in God, then?”

Crowley became very interested in the fabric of the couch arm, picking at it.

“I don’t know what I believe in. But I’ve never been particularly religious.”

Aziraphale rested his chin on his knees again.

“I don’t know if God and religion have much to do with each other.”

“Isn’t religion supposed to be your passion or something?”

Aziraphale laughed. He had a nice, tinkling laugh.

“It is my field of study, yes. And it’s fascinating. But I think of it more as studying people. Religion is a very human thing, I think.”

“So, you aren’t religious?” Crowley couldn’t help but look at him again.

“No, I am.” Aziraphale furrowed his brows. “But sometimes religion can be meaningful and sometimes it can be destructive. And I don’t think it is the only way to connect to the Divine.”

“What are the other ways?” Crowley didn’t think he could believe in any of the things Aziraphale was talking about, but he was completely enthralled, anyways.

“Through friendship and love. Through nature. Through-” Aziraphale paused and smiled, “a good book.”

“A book?”

Aziraphale blushed and looked down, but he was still smiling. “Yes. When you read a book, you are connecting to another human- maybe long dead- and you are experiencing their thoughts and ideas. The words that they put down at a very specific moment in history. What is that, other than Divine?”

“Human ingenuity?”

Aziraphale laughed again. “Quite right. I suppose I can get silly at an hour like this.”

“You’re not silly at all.” Crowley fell back on the couch to lay on his back. There was a moment of comfortable silence between them. “How can you be certain?” Crowley asked.

“Certain?”

“About God? And the ‘Divine’?”

“Well, you can never be certain. God and the universe and the Divine are ineffable.”

“Ineffable?”

“Yes. That’s the beauty of it.”

Crowley didn’t think that was beautiful at all. In fact, he thought it was rather annoying.

“Oh, goodness! I don’t remember the last time I stayed up this late! I really should be going to bed. I’ll take care of the glasses.” Crowley let Aziraphale collect the glasses and empty bottle and bustle off to the kitchen. Crowley stayed exactly where he was, studying the ceiling. When Aziraphale came back though the living room, Crowley could hear him pause around the foot of the stairs.

“Goodnight, Crowley,” he said.

“Goodnight.” Crowley stayed on the couch, thinking about God and the universe and ineffability. Eventually, sleep took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got lost in their political convo, they were talking about Brexit!
> 
> Feel free to chat with me on tumblr: [ jamgrlsblog](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Addition: Crowley's views on politics or his and not mine- please vote!


	4. The Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am updating a little earlier than I might have purely because I think it would be fun to do a special Labor Day update! (For people not in the states, Labor Day is a national holiday we have this Monday).
> 
> Also, this is a short chapter, but you can rest easy knowing the next update is coming very soon!
> 
> I know we are still in a bit of an exposition phase of this story, but please let me know what you think in the comments!!

Aziraphale arrived at the sculpture garden outside of the National Gallery of Art with a blanket and a Trader Joe’s bag stuffed with picnic foods. As usual, he was stopped to get his bag checked before he could enter. Crowley should have already been inside saving a good spot, since he already worked downtown and could get to the garden the fastest. Once inside, Aziraphale weaved through the modern sculptures and greenery, searching. Crowley’s red hair stood out in the throngs of people and Aziraphale was delighted to see that he had claimed a spot right in front of where the musicians were setting up. He wondered how early he had to have gotten here to get such a spot.

Aziraphale cut through the grass to get to Crowley, who smiled and waved when he saw him. Crowley was in a work suit, but he had taken his jacket off, holding it under his arm with his hands in his pockets. He looked dapper in his suit and expensive looking sunglasses.

“Hello there!” Aziraphale said happily when he got to Crowley.

“Hi.”

Aziraphale proceeded to lay the blanket out and unpack the Trader Joe’s bag. “Anathema and Newt should be joining us shortly, but I brought all the food.” He set out pears and apples, a baguette and several nice cheeses, and a bag of grapes. “They don’t let you bring alcohol in, but they sell pitchers of sangria here,” Aziraphale continued, settling himself into the blanket in a cross-legged position. “I find that the line is sometimes shorter after the music has started.”

Crowley put down his coat and joined Aziraphale on the blanket. As he made himself comfortable, he removed his tie, unbuttoning a few buttons of his dress shirt.

It _was_ rather hot.

Aziraphale unbuttoned his own shirt a notch to let himself breathe better.

“I like the fish,” Crowley said.

Embarrassed, Aziraphale glanced down at his blue patterned button down. “Oh. Um, thank you.”

“So, this happens every Friday?” Crowley asked conversationally, leaning back on his hands, his long legs stretched in front of him.

“Just in the summer months,” Aziraphale replied, looking beyond the temporary music stand at the large fountain in the center of the garden. It was really more of a shallow pool, but Aziraphale knew it was surrounded by signs reading ‘No Wading’. People sat along the edge, dangling their feet in the water. “We don’t come nearly as often as we should, but it is always a delight when we do.”

“Is it always just the three of you?”

“Most of the time.”

“You don’t ever feel like a third wheel?”

“Not at all.”

“Newt is the third wheel, then, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale laughed.

“I wonder that they’re not here yet,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps I should call...” Aziraphale fished his phone out of his shorts and saw that he had a text message.

[Anathema]

Today 5:13 PM

Sorry to bail at the last minute! I have to stay late at the museum tonight!

|   
  
---|---  
  
Aziraphale was incredibly skeptical of that. The people at the Apothecary Museum in Alexandria that Anathema worked at (only part time, by the way) _never_ asked her to stay late.

The band started up and the sound of jazz filled the garden.

[Anathema]

Today 5:35 PM

| 

And Newt?  
  
---|---  
  
Today 5:36 PM

Come down with the flu out of nowhere!

|   
  
---|---  
  
_Oh really._

[Anathema]

Today 5:37 PM

| 

I_ do _hope he feels better soon_._  
  
---|---  
  
Aziraphale angrily stuffed his phone back in pocket. He knew exactly what Anathema was trying to do.

“What’s up?” Crowley asked.

“Newt and Anathema are not coming!” Aziraphale said, indignantly. “And after I brought all of this food! It is going to be far too much!”

“Well, we can bring what’s left back with us.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Do you want to go home?”

“No, no,” Aziraphale said, calming down. “We are already here.”

“Do you want me to go get us some of that sangria?”

“That would be nice, yes.”

Crowley hopped up and disappeared into the crowds of people milling about, many still trying to scope out a spot to sit.

Aziraphale sighed heavily before laying on his stomach and closing his eyes, trying to focus on the jazz. It was a while before Crowley got back and Aziraphale was thankful.

How could Anathema not see how incredibly humiliating it was to be set up like this?

Aziraphale brooded with his face in the grass, hoping he could just disappear. Here he was, stuck alone with this very attractive man who probably had absolutely no interest in him, and it was probably obvious this was a set up. The worst part was that Aziraphale did not _want_ to pursue anything this man, he had specifically said as much. What if Crowley got the wrong impression and rejected him? Nothing could be more embarrassing. Blades of grass tickling his face, he imagined the best ways to tell off Anathema later. He finally came to the conclusion that he would just have to get through this evening and keep his cool to the best of his ability.

When Crowley did get back, Aziraphale was still laying on his stomach. Crowley gently nudged his leg with his foot and Aziraphale shot up to a sitting position in surprise.

“Sorry,” Crowley said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He was holding a clear pitcher of red sangria in one hand and two clear plastic cups in the other.

Aziraphale tried to right himself, straightening his shirt and resuming a dignified seated position, as Crowley sat down, placing the pitcher and cups in the grass beside them.

“You’ve got-” he said. “Hold on-” he then proceeded to pull several blades of grass and a leaf out of Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale hoped he wasn’t completely red in the face, but who was he kidding? Of course he was.

Crowley poured the two cups of sangria, handing one to Aziraphale and placing the pitcher between them. Aziraphale thanked him before draining his cup and immediately pouring himself another one. Crowley didn’t comment.

There was some tension between them and they didn’t speak for a while, focusing on picking at the food and making progress on their pitcher, but, to his relief, Aziraphale found that the more he drank, the more relaxed he became.

“Do you like other music?” Crowley asked at some point.

“Yes, of course.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

“Well, Anathema has introduced me to pop and I like some of it, but really,” Aziraphale hesitated, “this is going to sound rather pompous of me to say, but I mostly like classical music.”

Crowley laughed. “That’s not pompous, just a bit- how would you put it? Eccentric.”

Aziraphale huffed. “And you? I suppose you like alternative or something hipstery like that?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale quizzically. “Do you think that I am a hipster?”

“I think that you think you are hip.”

“Did you just use the word ‘hip’ unironically?”

Aziraphale did not respond, instead choosing to cross his arms and look in an opposite direction.

“I like rock. Queen, the Velvet Underground, stuff like that,” Crowley said plainly.

Aziraphale turned to face him again, uncrossing his arms.

“The Beatles?”

“Sure.”

“That’s a bit old fashioned.”

“I’m sorry, _what_ was that, Classical Music?”

Maybe it was the alcohol in his veins, but Aziraphale burst out laughing.

“I’ll be here all week,” Crowley said, amusement dancing on his face as he smiled lightly, eyebrows raised.

They had an easier time getting on after that, asking each other questions about themselves and engaging in pleasant banter. It started to become comfortable. Nice, even. Crowley didn’t seem to enjoy talking about family much, but he did like talking about philosophy and history. Aziraphale was pleased to find him quite his intellectual match.

There was something pleasant about being there with him, jazz filling the air, people dancing, the fountain before them, the modern art dispersed among the manicured trees and lawn. It was always pleasant, of course, but there was _something_ especially nice about this night.

Eventually, Aziraphale suggested that they sit at the fountain and dip their feet in. Crowley had to roll up his pants as to not get them wet.

The water felt cool on Aziraphale’s feet. He liked looking into the clear water, pennies and other coins glimmering from the fountain bottom. The sun was setting, and the band was probably going to be wrapping up soon.

“This was nice,” Aziraphale said, kicking his feet gently in the water.

“Yeah, it was,” Crowley said. They sat together in silence for a bit, Aziraphale admiring the the oranges and reds of sunset reflecting off the fountain water, before Crowley said, “Thanks for inviting me.”

Aziraphale looked away, feeling himself blushing. “Thanks for coming.”

“Shall we head back to the metro? The band has stopped playing.”

“Yes, let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a real place and a real event! I used to go when I lived in D.C. If you are in the area in the summer, it is a cool thing to check out (but you need to get there early!). To see some pictures of the garden, you can poke around [here](https://www.nga.gov/visit/sculpture-garden.html), to learn about the "Jazz in the Garden" event, you can go [here](https://www.nga.gov/press/jazz.html).
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr! [jamgrlsblog](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/)
> 
> After I wrote this chapter, I watched an episode of Queer Eye in which Bobby was wearing a blue patterned button-down with fish! Bobby is definitely Aziraphale's style icon, lol.


	5. Neither Devil Nor Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Labor Day update! It's not actually a holiday for me because my university is private (boo!), but I still thought a Labor Day update would be fun! Whoops, I guess Aziraphale shouldn't be wearing white. He gets a pass since he's British.

“You have to dress up! It’s an American tradition!”

Anathema was sitting at a bar stool facing Aziraphale, who was across the breakfast bar chopping onions. The summer months had made way for October, which happened to be one of Anathema’s favorite months.

“Yes, but I felt so ridiculous last year.” The previous year, Anathema had convinced Aziraphale to dress as Sherlock Holmes, but several people had asked him if he was a flasher. Aziraphale did not want to relive that.

“You don’t have to go all out. Just something simple. Look, I brought you some options.” Anathema rifled through a bag she had brought and pulled out a headband with a fuzzy halo sticking out of it, a pair of devil horns, and a few other items. Aziraphale eyed the items warily. “These can’t be mistaken for anything and anyways, we’ll just be at my house this year. No bars or anything.” Anathema grabbed the halo headband and reached across the breakfast bar to stick it on Aziraphale’s head. “See! Now you’re an angel. Easy peasy!”

“It feels _absurd_.”

Crowley’s voice came from the entryway, surprising Aziraphale. “I think it suits you.”

Aziraphale’s felt his face getting hot and immediately took off the headband, clutching it in his fist. Crowley walked fully into the kitchen, taking a seat at the available bar stool. “You are very saint-like, after all,” Crowley said.

Feeling very embarrassed, Aziraphale snapped back, “I am not a _saint_.”

“No, he’s not,” Anathema said, helpfully. “He’s a real angel- I can sense these things, you know. I’m very in tune with the supernatural,” Anathema added, wriggling her eyebrows.

“Oh?" Crowley asked, laughing. "Am I anything supernatural then?”

“You,” she said, “are a handsome devil,” she continued, handing him the red devil horn headband. Crowley popped it on his head.

“How do I look?”

Aziraphale was helplessly watching this exchange and trying to decide if he could sneak away without them noticing. He would have to abandon the onions, but desperate times, you know.

“Great! I’m having a Halloween party- you should come!”

“Oh, good. I’ll take anything to get out of the work party I keep getting invited to.”

“I’ll see you there, then! Don’t come without him, though,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at Aziraphale. “Costumes are not optional!” She gathered the rest of her items from the counter and shoved them into her bag, slinging the bag over her shoulder before hopping off the bar stool. “I’ll see you guys later. Newt will have dinner ready soon.” With that, she disappeared and Aziraphale was left alone in the kitchen with Crowley. Aziraphale put the halo aside on the counter and returned his focus to chopping onions.

“So, an angel and a devil? Could be fun,” Crowley said.

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said, not looking up. “I’m not sure I will be going to any party.”

“Oh, come on! I couldn’t go without you! I won’t know anyone. And I need that party as an excuse to get out of the work one- I couldn’t bear to spend any extra time with those people.” Crowley shook his head in disgust. “What could I do to convince you?”

Aziraphale thought about that, tapping the cutting board with his knife. Perhaps he _was_ being a tad obtuse. “I suppose-” Aziraphale said, thoughtfully, “next time we get take-out, you could buy.”

A wicked grin spread across Crowley’s face and he held his hand out for a handshake. “Deal.”

~ ~ ~

Since Crowley was wearing the devil horns, it felt a little less embarrassing to be wearing the angel halo for the party. Aziraphale just wore a short sleeve white button down and khakis for the rest of his costume, not wanting to go too far with it.

In addition to the devil horns, Crowley arrived at the bottom of the stairs in a dark red v-neck and some tight jeans, which Aziraphale quite liked the look of on him. He filed that thought away quickly before nodding to him and embarking with him to the party next door.

They were greeted at the door by Anathema and Newt, who were dressed as a witch and ... a pilgrim?

“What are you, Newt?” Crowley asked, voicing the question on Aziraphale’s mind. Anathema laughed airily and answered for him while Newt just looked embarrassed. “I’m a witch and he’s a witch burner!”

“I really would have preferred to be something cool, like Iron Man, but she insisted,” Newt rushed to explain.

“That’s a bit morbid, Anathema,” Aziraphale said.

“See!” Newt exclaimed. Anathema waved a dismissive hand.

“It’s funny. Anyways, come on in. There are plenty of snacks and drinks and candies- help yourself!”

The room was filled with tacky Halloween decorations and the tables covered in themed foods in orange and purple bowls. “The Monster Mash” was playing faintly in the background while many of the neighbors were sitting around chatting. The neighborhood children had their hands deep in a sweets bowl.

The children spotted him and Crowley and Aziraphale waved, causing the children to run up excitedly.

“Aziraphale!” Several of them cried as they hugged him.

“Oh, hello, dears! And what are you dressed up as tonight?”

“Me and Pepper are pirates,” Adam said, “and Brian and Wensleydale are aliens. We are characters from the book I just wrote. Do you want to read it?”

“Oh, I’m sure nothing would make me happier.”

Adam beamed.

“Who’s this?” Pepper asked, looking pointedly at Crowley.

“This is Mr. Crowley. He’s moved in next door with me.”

“You can just call me Crowley.”

“You are living together?” Brian, who was already covered in chocolate from the Halloween sweets, asked Aziraphale.

“Yes.”

“Are you a couple, then, like Newt and Anathema?”

Aziraphale was a bit shocked by the question and was thankful when Wensleydale cut in, adjusting his large glasses. “Actually, you can be friends and live together. My cousin lives with three of her friends all together in an apartment near the zoo. And they can just walk to the zoo anytime they want!”

“That’s amazing! I wish I lived with you three!” Adam exclaimed.

“I wish I lived by the zoo!” Pepper added. With that, the children became distracted by discussing the coolest places to live near and what they would do if they were free of adults.

Aziraphale chuckled lightly and glanced at Crowley, who appeared unfazed. He seemed to register Aziraphale looking at him and turned to face him, hands shoved in his pockets. “Sweet kids,” Crowley said.

“Yes, they rather are. Come, I’ll introduce you to their parents.”

They spent a rather pleasant evening chatting with the adults present and being occasionally commandeered by the children to play games. Crowley was quite good with children, very willing to be silly and goofy with them. It was extremely nice to watch.

As much as Aziraphale had been wary about attending the party, he had to admit that he had a good time. He liked their neighbors and nothing embarrassing happened. It was just a sort of low-key evening with his closest friends and the sweetest children he knew. And he didn’t mind spending a little extra time with Crowley in this setting, stealing little glances here and there.

By the time they meandered back to their own house, Aziraphale was feeling a little bit tipsy on some kind of themed punch.

Crowley must have been a bit tipsy, too, because when they each collapsed on the sofa, Crowley said, in a way that could have been flirtatious, “You make a pretty good angel.” Aziraphale laughed nervously and got up abruptly.

“I had better- I had better get to bed,” he said, before dashing up to his room.

He wasn’t sure why he did it. If the comment had been flirtatious, shouldn’t he have stayed and flirted back? God knew he wanted to. Instead, however, he lay back on his unmade bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing for it to stop spinning.

A worse and more unwelcome thought came.

What if he was teasing him?

It must have been obvious that Aziraphale was gay. It must have been obvious that Aziraphale had been pining for him like a schoolboy all this time, despite his best efforts not to.

It was very unclear to Aziraphale whether Crowley was even interested in men, but if he was, it was very unlikely Crowley could be interested in_ him._

_He really is cruel_, Aziraphale thought.

Why had Aziraphale let himself get even remotely involved with this man?

Aziraphale tore the halo off his head and threw it across the room, the thing landing pathetically by the door. His hand groped for a pillow which, once found, he pressed against his face. He groaned softly into it in exasperation and shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's September, we can already get excited for Halloween! Even if this one does end up a bit sad. Poor not-angel.
> 
> Let me know what you think of the fic so far in the comments! :D


	6. Certainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was going to update yesterday and announce that I was going to try to actually get on a consistent posting schedule of Thursdays and Sundays, but then I left my laptop on campus like an idiot. Ah, the life of a second-year master's student. The semester has barely even started! Anyways, I'll definitely do Sundays, the other day could wobble between Wednesday and Friday depending on how crazy my days end up being.

Aziraphale had been acting aloof since the Halloween party, which had Crowley very confused. He had thought they had had a good time. It wasn’t the most exciting party or anything, but Anathema and Newt and the kids were all pretty funny and he was really starting to like Aziraphale. Crowley couldn’t think of anything he could have done to upset him, and it was starting to trouble him.

It was odd because Crowley usually didn’t become attached to people. Someone else’s opinion of him was not something he often spent energy thinking about. Maybe it was the loneliness catching up to him or maybe it was that he was sort of fascinated by Aziraphale in particular. He could turn from grumpy to bubbly in an instant, he was very strong-willed and stubbornly optimistic, he was certainly not afraid to challenge Crowley or give him a bit of lip, he was exceedingly kind and exceedingly selfish, he cared far too much about the environment, and beyond all of that, he was very, very clever.

Crowley supposed Aziraphale just didn’t find him all that interesting. Maybe Crowley wasn’t as interesting as he thought he was. Interesting or not, he _was _greedy, so he wasn’t above using his skills of persuasion to pull some quality time out of his roommate.

He eventually managed to bribe Aziraphale into hanging out a bit by tempting him with Chinese take-out. He had had to keep his end of their deal, after all. That was when the subject of Newt and Anathema came up.

“They’re getting _married?” _Crowley could hardly believe it.

“Yes. This December.”

“Huh. A Christmas wedding, then?” He was still trying to get over the shock of it.

“No, actually, a solstice wedding. That’s an important distinction. Anathema is a Wiccan, you see.”

“Ah. Yep. That makes sense," Crowley said, nodding.

They were sitting on the couch, digging into various take-out containers. Crowley was pretty dressed down, but Aziraphale was still in nice clothes. He was always wearing some kind of colorful collared shirt. Now, he was somehow managing to make eating take-out on the couch look proper.

“Yes. It’s very important to her that the wedding take place on the night of the solstice. It’s meant to represent new beginnings and all that.”

Crowley had to admit that it sounded like a nice sentiment. But it still made him feel queasy. He couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around the idea of _marriage_.

“They’re fairly young, aren’t they?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. They are both about 24.”

“A bit young for marriage,” Crowley stated plainly (and maybe judgmentally). Aziraphale shrugged.

“I don’t think so. Anyways, why does it matter if you are certain?”

Crowley didn’t think he could ever feel certain about something like that. What was even more perplexing was that Aziraphale didn’t seem at all fazed as he rifled through one of the paper bags their food came in, presumably looking for an egg roll.

“They really aren’t much younger than us,” Aziraphale said, thoughtfully. “Well, than me, anyways. I’m afraid I don’t actually know how old you are, I’ve just rather assumed-” Aziraphale looked at him imploringly with big innocent eyes and Crowley supposed that was a cue.

“I’m 28,” Crowley said. For some reason, that made a big smile appear on Aziraphale’s face.

“Oh! You see! I’m 27. We are hardly older than them.”

“It feels like quite a bit older, actually. And I’m not sure I could be doing what they are doing.”

“Really? I’m rather envious. It would be nice to have that bit figured out.” He took a bite out of the egg roll he had managed to fish out.

Crowley just hummed in response. It wasn’t really something he had considered needed to be figured out. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to get married. Apparently, the whole idea wasn’t so scary to Aziraphale.

They continued to eat and it seemed that there was nothing more to say on the subject.

“Well,” Crowley said, breaking the silence. “Do you want to watch Broadchurch?” Crowley had been saving the episodes to watch with Aziraphale instead of watching the show straight through, like he might have normally. It was just because he couldn’t believe any Brit hadn’t watched it and it was not a show you could skip back and forth in. That was all.

“Oh, I don’t know-” he had a guilty look on his face like he wanted to say yes, but he thought he shouldn’t. “You know how it can be at the end of the semester- I’ve got grading to do and all-”

“Come _on_. You deserve a break.” He really did spend far too much time working. “Don’t you want to know who the killer is?” Crowley tried his best to stare Aziraphale down, eyebrows raised. Aziraphale just looked at him sideways, seeming to consider whether to hold strong or cripple under the pressure. Finally, Crowley could see his face break. (It didn’t actually take much convincing, at all.)

“Oh, alright. But one episode, only, and no more!”

They ended up watching three episodes when, after the first, Aziraphale decided there was no way he would get any grading done that night, anyways.

Aziraphale was very invested in the show and it was bloody adorable to watch. He would gasp when new information was revealed and make exclamations and comments about the behavior of the characters. 

In short, he was very cute.

Crowley felt genuinely happy to be sharing the couch and the show with him.

Aziraphale caught him staring and looked a bit taken aback. “What is it?” he asked, feeling his face. “Have I got Chinese food on my face?”

“No, no, nothing, sorry.” Crowley turned sheepishly towards the television and fixed his stare there, though he side-glanced at Aziraphale a few more times as they kept watching, wanting to see his expression when something wild happened. He couldn’t help but smile.

~ ~ ~

On an evening in late November, Crowley found himself sitting around a campfire with Aziraphale, Anathema, and Newt in Anathema and Newt’s backyard, all of them seated in camping chairs and drinking port from mismatched cups. The only light came from twinkling stars, the fire itself, and a porch light coming from the back of Anathema and Newt’s house. The fall had brought with it a crisp coolness, but it was still pleasant to be out at night if you were close enough to a heat source and dressed warmly enough.

“What’s this holiday about, again?” Crowley could see the moisture of his breath joining the swirls of gray and white smoke.

“It’s a celebration of the genocide of Native Americans,” Anathema said, darkly from the other side of the fire. The sound of the crackling fire and the darkness of their surroundings, only somewhat illuminated by the flickering flames, added a weight to her statement. Her face was cast in shadows as she threw a small twig into the fire.

There was solemn silence for a while, but Crowley ventured forward. “That doesn’t really sound right-” Crowley responded hesitantly, confused. That seemed to break the solemnity.

“It’s not _really _about genocide,” Newt explained, receiving a glare from Anathema. “I mean, yes, that happened, but the holiday is really supposed to be about thankfulness and bounty, that kind of thing?”

“Yes, the background of the holiday is rather unsavory,” Aziraphale piped in, “but I do think it is nice to take time to think about what you are grateful for.”

Crowley pulled the wool blanket he had draped over himself tighter. He watched the dancing orange flames as he focused on distinguishing the other night sounds filling the air. He thought maybe he heard crickets and frogs. It was peaceful.

“Anyways, we are going up to Massachusetts to spend it with Newt’s mom,” Anathema stated in a lighter tone.

Crowley had the week of the holiday off and he had no idea what to do with it. He guessed he might just be stuck alone since all his coworkers and, apparently, the members of his very small circle of friends would be going out of town or spending time with family.

At least it was possible one friend would be around.

“Are you going anywhere, Aziraphale?” Crowley tried to hide the hopefulness from his voice.

“_Me?_ Oh, no. It’s not as if my family is expecting me. I’m looking forward to catching up on work with the time off.”

“Okay,” Anathema said, “but promise me you will at least_ try _to have a _little _fun without us.”

Crowley didn’t look up, but he thought he could feel Aziraphale rolling his eyes.

“Well, I’m going to be stuck here,” Crowley announced. “And I won’t really have _anything_ to do.”

“You don’t have to go to the Turkey Pardon or anything?” Newt asked. Crowley had no idea what a Turkey Pardon was.

“They’ve just given us the week off.”

“That’s nice of them,” Newt said.

“Not really. It’s a national holiday,” Anathema countered.

“Yes, but, a whole week it pretty good,” Newt said. Anathema shrugged and sipped from her port.

The four of them enjoyed the fire in silence for a while.

“You know, I bet the zoo will already be decorated for Christmas by then,” Newt said, out of the blue.

“Oh, yeah! That’s always nice!” Anathema added.

Crowley wasn’t sure where they were going with this.

“That could be something to do,” Anathema explained, some exasperation apparent in her voice. “Entry to the zoo is free and they always have an elaborate Winter Wonderland thing going on. All kinds of lights. You two should go!”

That didn’t sound too bad. At least it could be a way to pass the time. And, obviously, free was always a plus. Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who seemed very interested in his port.

“What do you think, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. He had been awfully quiet for a while.

“I don’t know-”

“Oh, come _on, _Aziraphale!” Anathema pleaded. Aziraphale sighed, defeated. He gave Crowley a nervous little side-glance before responding.

“I suppose it could make for a good study break. If Crowley wanted to-”

Crowley raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale, trying very hard to play for nonchalance. “Why not?”

“Well, alright…”

Even though the hesitation in Aziraphale’s voice was clear, Crowley couldn’t help but to feel a bit excited. The hesitation was probably just because he was such an over-achiever. This was that same guiltiness of taking any time away from work. Once he got him out of the house, though, he would surely have fun. It was healthy, right? Getting outside and all? Anyways, it would be a nice opportunity for more quality time together, which was something Crowley wanted more than he cared to admit.

It sounded as if the plans were set and, probably against his better judgement, Crowley felt almost giddy about it. He tried to hide his smile by downing the rest of his port.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ The Turkey Pardon!](https://www.whitehousehistory.org/pardoning-the-thanksgiving-turkey)
> 
> Side story:  
Last night, when I wasn't updating this fic, my partner opened a new bottle of wine to have with dinner and I had already eaten on campus, but I had some wine, too, and we both really liked it (it was a red blend), so we ended up bringing the bottle with us to the couch and watching two episodes of Queer Eye and we actually finished the entire bottle between the two of us and it just felt like a very Crowley and Aziraphale night.
> 
> As always, feel free to find me on [tumblr](https://jammintwamp.tumblr.com/)!


	7. A Stationary Zoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday, as promised!
> 
> Also, I made a terrible [aesthetic collage](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/post/187553148358/summerfall-aesthetic-board-for-my-good-omens-fic) for tumblr using a free collage app, ha. Sorry I can't draw or make gifs.
> 
> CW: Some references to verbal abuse/body shaming; very mild Broadchurch spoiler

Aziraphale burst into Crowley’s room with hellfire in his eyes. “What is _this_?!!_” _he all but shouted, brandishing the white angel wing mug that Crowley had left on his desk.

Crowley leaned back in his desk chair, amused.

“I got it on a Pre-Black Friday sale. Look, I got one, too!” He proudly held up a red mug with a devil’s tail for a handle. Aziraphale scoffed.

“So, you thought it would be appropriate to enter my room, _without my permission_, just so you could play this little joke?”

“Look who’s talking! You just burst into my room without knocking!”

Affronted, Aziraphale huffed and turned on his heels, stomping away.

It was quite fun to ruffle his feathers.

~ ~ ~

So, they were going to the zoo together. Alone. 

Anathema had pushed and it seemed as if Crowley was interested, so here they were. 

Aziraphale was reluctant, and his reluctance was not related to his studies. No, the reality was that he wasn’t sure if it was the best idea to go on an _almost_ date with Crowley.

Hanging out as a group was one thing.

But this?

_It’s just a normal, friendly outing_, Aziraphale reminded himself.

They were both on holiday in a foreign country without much to do. And, really, Crowley was perfectly friendly most of the time. 

Maybe he had teased Aziraphale that one night, but he hadn’t teased again _in that way_ since. Maybe jibes about Aziraphale’s taste in music or complaints about Aziraphale’s insistence on composting, but those weren’t quite as painful. 

It was kind of what their relationship had turned into, making fun of each other. And Crowley had gotten him that stupid mug, and it _was_ a bit sweet, if one thought about it. A mark of their friendship, Aziraphale supposed. They _were_ friends.

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what he was afraid of. 

Maybe he was afraid he would enjoy himself too much. It was never a good idea to harbor crushes on straight friends- which was what Aziraphale assumed he was doing, as he hadn’t any indication otherwise. Well, and Crowley had made a comment about Jodie Whittaker once that could lead one to believe as much. (It was while they were watching Broadchurch. Something along the lines of “You know, this one always baffles me. Obviously, Mark is a moron, but giving up _Jodie Whittaker_?” To which Aziraphale responded with something along the lines of “I’m really not the person to ask about that.” Leading to a snort and a bout of laughter from Crowley, along with a “Fair.” So, if Crowley hadn’t already known about Aziraphale’s preferences, they had been made clear then, and if Aziraphale had been holding onto any hope that Crowley had ever seriously flirted with him, it was finally let go.)

Aside from Aziraphale’s own misplaced feelings, though, they did have a good friendship, didn’t they? Crowley certainly was a welcome member in their little group and he really was a fun person to be with.

So maybe this would be a positive exercise in putting those feelings behind himself and focusing on what should simply be a good friendship.

Yes, that was exactly what he would do.

And so, with a renewed vigor, Aziraphale was determined to make the best of their little outing.

~ ~ ~

They were at the zoo, like they had planned. It was evening, but still light out. The plan was to see the animals in the light but stay long enough to see the Christmas lights when it was dark. They had just been pausing to look at a map to decide which animals to visit next when Aziraphale had seen them.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, grabbing Crowley by the shoulder and turning him around roughly.

“What?” Crowley asked, perplexed.

“Over there,” Aziraphale said, unable to hide the panic in his voice. “Don’t look.” Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder. “They’re coming this way-”

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale felt himself wince. He turned around slowly to face Gabriel and his new beau, Sandalphon, who were now standing before him. Crowley turned as well, eyeing the pair suspiciously behind his sunglasses.

“I thought that was you!”

“Hello, Gabriel! Fancy seeing you here!” Aziraphale exclaimed with faux felicity. He was wearing that peacoat and scarf of his. _Handsome as ever, of course_, Aziraphale thought bitterly. It was hard enough trying to behave like a normal person with Crowley, he did _not _need extra opportunities for mortification piled on.

“I’m here, often, actually. It’s a great place for some light jogging. Easy enough even for you. You _really_ should come try it.

“Quite.” _Subtle, _Aziraphale thought, trying very hard not to let his face betray his annoyance.

“But tonight, I am just here for pleasure. Had to make sure Sandalphon here saw the Christmas lights.” Sandalphon smiled and Gabriel showily put his arm around him. “Just loves Christmas, this one!”

“Yes, um, it is a rather nice holiday,” Aziraphale said impatiently. “Shouldn’t you be back in St. Louis for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, not this year! Sandalphon’s family lives here.” His cheeriness was infuriating.

“Right.”

“But enough about me! How are _you_ doing? Well, I imagine?”

“Uhh-” Embarrassment gripped Aziraphale as he realized how pathetic he must seem to Gabriel.

“Oh, come now, there must be _something_ interesting going on in your life.”

“_Hello_,” Crowley cut in, with a sort of overly gallant charm. “I’m Anthony Crowley,” he said, reaching a gloved hand out in offering to Gabriel. Gabriel seemed to be noticing Crowley for the first time. He did not take the outstretched hand. Crowley continued, taking his hand back. “_Lovely_ to meet you, but we _really_ must be going.” Aziraphale felt Crowley’s other warm hand slip into his and grip firmly. “Come on, _Angel_,” he said loudly. Aziraphale turned his head in slight shock to see Crowley looking at Gabriel resolutely from behind his sunglasses. “We have to see the snake room before it’s closed for the night,” he said, continuing to stare directly at Gabriel as he said it. Crowley pulled Aziraphale away and held firmly to his hand until they were far away from the pair. Crowley then unceremoniously let go and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, continuing to walk through the zoo with purpose.

“Thank you for saving me. That was rather mortifying,” Aziraphale said breathlessly as he struggled to keep up with Crowley’s fast pace. “That was, well, a former-”

“Yes, I gathered that,” Crowley said in a clipped tone. “Not a very nice one, is he?”

“No, not really,” Aziraphale admitted. “Not to me, anyways. He regularly told me awful things when we were together.”

Crowley nodded without looking at Aziraphale and they kept walking.

“That was clever, with the pet name.”

Crowley shrugged. They wove through food and drink stands and educational signage, passing through different regional sections of the zoo, until Aziraphale found that they were actually face to face with the entrance to the snake room, or, reptile exhibit, to be exact.

Crowley looked at him and indicated the building. It was hard to gauge his expression with the sunglasses on. “Would you like to-” Crowley stopped mid-sentence, waiting for a response.

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

Together they entered the warm building. It was a nice relief from outside, which was starting to become rather chilly. The room was dark, mostly lit by the heat lamps over the various enclosures. It smelled strongly of hay and Lysol. Still, there were many fascinating creatures to see and Crowley seemed entranced by them. Aziraphale guessed he had a soft spot for snakes, what with the tattoo and all.

They split up to each go through the room at their own pace.

After they had each been admiring the snakes and other reptiles for some time quietly, Aziraphale found himself standing side by side with Crowley again. Crowley spoke, then, without diverting his gaze from the large black rat snake before him. “What kind of things did he tell you?” he asked softly. It wasn’t hard to figure out to what he was referring.

“Oh, um. Just things about me. Needing to lose weight or, you know, commenting on the things I ate.”

Crowley had taken off his sunglasses to be able to see in the dark room, so Aziraphale could see that he had closed his eyes at that and swallowed like he was trying to keep himself from having an outburst.

“Clearly he wants someone to control and you are not it.”

“Well, yes, I expect it is for the best that we are no longer together. But, in his defense, you know, he really wasn’t wrong about-” Aziraphale cut himself short and swallowed nervously when Crowley turned to face him directly. Aziraphale could tell even in the darkness that he had an incredulous look on his face. Aziraphale was expecting him to have some kind of violent reaction, to shout or something. But, instead, he placed his hands gently on Aziraphale’s shoulders and spoke softly and deliberately, with a surprising amount of tenderness in his voice.

“Don’t you dare think that. Making you think that- that is a tactic abusers use to manipulate people. Surely you know that.”

Aziraphale averted his eyes. “Well, _yes_, I suppose I know that in _theory_, but it is hard to get those things out of your head. And really, I’m not exactly-”

Crowley cut him off. “Aziraphale, you are very attractive, do you know that?”

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered up to Crowley’s and then away again. “That’s kind, dear, but-”

“_No. _I’m telling you, _I_ would know,” Crowley said, firmly.

It took Aziraphale a moment to understand his meaning, but then he looked at Crowley and felt his face flush. He was thankful the snake room was dark.

“Oh.”

This did change things, quite a lot.

Crowley removed his hands from Aziraphale’s shoulders and turned away, hands back in his pockets.

“Come on. Let’s get some funnel cake. I’m buying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Zoolights! ](https://nationalzoo.si.edu/events/zoolights)


	8. Guy Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Thursday! It’s also another Democratic presidential debate tonight, if you are in the states. Now you can wonder what this version of Crowley is thinking about what will probably be a clown show while you watch tonight or this weekend, ha.

“Oh dear. Look at the time! I’m afraid the metro isn’t running anymore!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll call an Uber.”

“No, no, let me. I have Lyft.”

“Why do you say that in that ‘holier than thou’ tone?”

“I didn’t! But, you know, all these articles that have been out-”

“Right. I forgot you were an angel.”

“I’m _not_ an _angel_.”

“No, but you think you are.”

“I simply don’t want to support businesses that-”

“All corporations are evil, _Angel_. It’s just how the world works_. _The best you can do to avoid _that_ is to live like a hermit and not participate in society.”

“Maybe so. Anyways, the Lyft is coming.”

~ ~ ~

They had had a pleasant night, Crowley thought, once they had gotten past that business regarding that tool of a man that Aziraphale apparently used to be with.

Crowley couldn’t quite believe how insecure Aziraphale was. He had absolutely no reason to be. He was, honestly, probably one of the most interesting people Crowley had ever met. It was possible he was even making Crowley consider being a little less cynical.

And that was just his personality.

“Anathema has been insisting that I invite you to the wedding, you know,” Aziraphale had said over funnel cake when they were sitting on a bench next to the lions.

“The wedding?”

“Have you forgotten already? The solstice wedding?” He had looked at him with those big, soppy eyes. Why did he do that? The blue seemed even brighter in the dark, somehow.

“No, I remember.”

“It wouldn’t be like a date or anything.” He had looked away, then. “It’s just, I won’t know anyone there.”

“I didn’t think-”

“They are paying for the plane tickets, you know.” He had been just sort of picking at his funnel cake. “Anathema’s family is quite wealthy.”

“Plane tickets?”

“It’s in California, where her family lives.”

“Oh.”

“Only if you wanted to, of course.” The Christmas lights had danced oddly on his face and hair. “Though, Anathema _did_ want you there, and since I don’t have a plus one-”

“I, um- that would be nice.”

Aziraphale had positively glowed at that, beaming up at Crowley before digging into his funnel cake.

They agreed to spend Christmas together, too, after the wedding. Anathema and Newt would stay in California with Anathema’s family through New Year’s, but Crowley and Aziraphale would be going back to Virginia.

Aziraphale had said the wedding and Christmas were so close together that it seemed silly to go all the way to London right after California, but Crowley knew Aziraphale was really staying because he had let it slip that he didn’t have any family to go to and Aziraphale wanted to keep him company. Crowley tried to convince him against it, but he was very stubborn and of course he denied that his decision to stay was at all related to Crowley.

Admittedly, it was nice imagining having someone to spend Christmas with.

It would also be the last time they got to spend together before Crowley left on the campaign trail to take a bus tour of Illinois, the state Mr. Dowling was running to represent, with possibly the worst humans he had ever the misfortune to meet.

Christmas with Aziraphale might just make up for whatever pain was to come.

~ ~ ~

“I’m excited he’s coming!” Anathema said over the mojito Aziraphale had made her. “This is excellent, by the way,” she said, pointing to the drink. They were in her kitchen, which was very similar to Aziraphale’s, except, perhaps, that her furniture was generally newer and nicer.

“Oh! Thank you!” Aziraphale responded, cheerfully. “I’ve been practicing the muddling, you know.” Aziraphale poured his own drink before closing the lid on the pitcher and putting it in the fridge.

“I bet my mom would like this. What recipe did you use?”

“Oh, I would be honored if your mother drank one of my mojitos!” Aziraphale exclaimed, picking up his own drink and joining Anathema at a bar stool. Her bar stools actually had backs. “The recipe is from a liquor store in Maryland.” He began to gesture enthusiastically and make expressive faces as he told the story. “It was a big nice store with lots of wines and things- and they were doing a tasting and I tried it and it was _so_ delicious, and they had a pile of cards, each with the recipe on it, and so I _had_ to take one.” He became a bit sour momentarily. “Even though _Gabriel_ got mad at me for getting distracted. I don’t know if he would have even let me take the card. But,” he continued, excited again, “I wasn’t going to take a chance, so I hid it in my jacket when he wasn’t looking!”

“God, that guy is such an asshole,” Anathema said, shaking her head. “Was that when he dragged you to that Orioles game?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, agitated by the memory. “It was _very_ boring. And then, of course, there was the worst kind of masculinity on display by the audience. Perhaps I should have taken that as a sign.” He paused, and then added, “The crab cakes afterwards were quite good, though.”

Anathema laughed. “Maryland crab cakes are pretty good. Also, I don’t think you call it an audience in sports.”

“What do you call it?”

“The crowd? Spectators, maybe? I don’t know!”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale shrugged and kept drinking his mojito. At least he had gotten one good thing out of that experience. Two, if you counted the crab cakes.

“What did Gabriel want at the liquor store if he is anti-mojito? Something stupidly manly, like _bourbon_?” Anathema said, with exaggerated revulsion.

“_Worse,_” Aziraphale said, matching her drama with widened eyes. “_Light beer_. You can’t get beer and wine at the grocery stores in Maryland!”

“_Eww_. Remind me, why were you with him??”

Aziraphale sighed seriously. “He was very nice, at first. Attentive, you know. Chivalrous, even. And I did notice his brash personality, but I thought that was just a sort of American charm, and we _were_ in the same department, so I thought there was some shared interest, and, well,” Aziraphale paused and then sighed again. “_You_ have seen the man, he’s _gorgeous_.”

Newt entered the room at that moment. “You talking about me?” he said.

“Ha,” Anathema replied.

Aziraphale told him about the mojitos and Newt began to help himself to his own glass.

“I heard you guys bad-mouthing bourbon,” Newt said. “You really should give it more credit, it’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, you only like it because you drown it in maple syrup, Mr. New England,” Anathema jibed.

“I don’t _drown _it.” Anathema raised her eyebrows. “I bet Crowley would drink bourbon with me,” Newt said defensively, as he put the pitcher away and took a position standing at the counter.

Anathema folded over the breakfast bar laughing. “_Oh my God, _he _so_ drinks bourbon, I can just _see_ it.” Recovering slightly from her laughter, she gave Newt a look. “I doubt he puts maple syrup in his, though.”

“Well, then he is just missing out,” said Newt flippantly.

“How is your game?” Anathema asked, changing the subject. Newt’s face crumbled.

“I was just about to beat the boss and then my computer crashed. I’m afraid I might have lost all my saves. I have no idea what is going on with that computer.”

“Aren’t you an I.T. guy?” Aziraphale asked teasingly.

“Nobody ever said I was good at my job,” Newt said plainly.

Aziraphale appreciated that Newt could make fun of himself.

“Well, you are welcome to hang out with us,” Anathema said.

“I thought that’s what I was doing?”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “We were just in the middle of gossiping, and you interrupted us.”

“We were not_ gossiping_,” Aziraphale corrected.

“Whatever you want to call it. Can we circle back to the thing about Crowley being your date to the wedding?” Anathema asked, swiveling her chair to face Aziraphale.

“He’s just coming as a _friend_, which was _your idea_, by the way,” Aziraphale said, exasperated.

“Sure, but do you think he likes you?” Anathema pressed. Aziraphale hesitated.

“Well, he _did _imply recently that he is gay, which I did_ not_ expect, but I think if he were interested in me, he would have indicated it by now.”

“Aziraphale, of _course_ he is gay. Have you seen how tight that guy’s pants are?”

Aziraphale tutted. “Clothing has nothing to do with sexual orientation, Anathema.”

“Right, but when a guy dresses like _that _you gotta wonder if he is trying to send a message.”

“I could talk to him, if you want,” Newt interjected.

Anathema looked at him skeptically. “What is your plan? To drink bourbon with Crowley and then casually ask him about his sexual preferences?”

“Guys do that, right?” Newt asked.

“I don’t think Crowley wants to have guy talk with you, Newt.”

“Why not? This is kind of like guy talk, right Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale scrunched his face. “I think Anathema being here disqualifies it.”

“You guys are idiots,” Anathema said, rolling her eyes again.

They both shrugged and drank their mojitos.

“He _did_ call me attractive, actually,” Aziraphale said, as if just remembering a minor detail.

“Wait, _what??” _Anathema said, slamming her fist on the breakfast bar and almost knocking over her drink.

Aziraphale backtracked a bit. “It wasn’t a come on or anything,” he rushed to explain. “It was just in the context of comforting me. We ran into Gabriel at the zoo.”

Anathema’s face fell. “Oh, _shit,_” she said.

“It was fine!” Aziraphale exclaimed nervously, using his hands to gesture how truly fine it was. “Barely an encounter! I’m quite thankful Crowley was there. He very smoothly pulled me out of the situation. And he was really quite kind.”

“He’s a good guy,” Anathema said.

“Yes, he is,” Aziraphale agreed. He sighed sadly. “I _will_ say, seeing Gabriel did remind me that I do miss certain _benefits_ of being in a relationship.”

“If the benefits you are talking about are the ones I _assume_ you are talking about, you do not need a relationship to get them.” Aziraphale gave her a look. “Please, _please _just let me help you set up a Grindr profile,” Anathema pleaded.

Aziraphale shook his head furiously. “I couldn’t possibly do that,” he said.

“Okay, well what about one of my cousins that is going to be at the wedding? Pretty sure Juan Carlos is single and ready to mingle,” she ended the sentence in a sing-song voice.

“God, Anathema, that is so much worse. Anyways, I couldn’t possibly do that if I am bringing Crowley as my guest,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“I thought it wasn’t a date,” Anathema challenged.

“It isn’t, but it would still be awfully rude.”

“Okay, if that’s all it is. You are spending Christmas together, right?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale swirled his drink thoughtfully. “But that is just because the poor thing doesn’t have anywhere to go. I’m not sure what the familial situation is, but it must not be very good.”

“Why don’t you just take him home with you?”

“Oh, no no no!” Aziraphale said, wide eyed and alarmed. “My mother would get far too excited, she certainly wouldn’t believe we are just friends, and that would be uncomfortable for both of us. And my _father. _Well, he was very rude to Gabriel.”

“Well, _that_ was probably because Gabriel sucks.”

“She has a point there,” Newt added.

“That sounds fair about your mom, though,” Anathema conceded.

“I’m sure Christmas in Virginia will be just fine,” Aziraphale stated.

It was possible it would be more than fine. He _did _really like Crowley.

As a friend, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to light beer drinkers. But could you honestly imagine _Aziraphale_ drinking light beer? Also, sorry to baseball fans. I am not personally into baseball, but my college roommate was captain of the college softball team and in fact coaches high school softball now, and she is baller, so I have mad respect for baseball/softball people.
> 
> A note on the mojitos (and Anathema's mom's presumed expertise): I wanted to maintain ambiguity on Anathema's nationality to maximize representation, but that is really hard, so I am assuming she is Puerto Rican/Puerto Rican adjacent, which makes it easy as I am Puerto Rican (or, well, similarly half-Puerto Rican, as I am assuming Anathema is, Device being her gringo side). Also, my partner and I legit have a mojito recipe card from a tasting at a liquor store in Maryland and it is legit good.
> 
> Side Story 1: So, my partner and I are getting married in a little over a year and the wedding venue we have booked does quarterly open houses so you can try the food and drink options and at the most recent one they had a bourbon cocktail which was just bourbon and smoked maple syrup and it was really good. Like, I don't usually like bourbon, and I liked it, and my dad who _does_ like bourbon and often drinks it straight also liked it! It will _not_ be an option at our wedding because we are saving money by going just beer and wine, _but_ I am glad we got to try it!
> 
> Side Story 2: The one time I went to an Orioles game in Baltimore, I was pescetarian at the time, but for some reason thought I would be able to get dinner at this game. There were very few non-meat options, but being Maryland, there _were_ crab options. So at one of these concession stands, I should have stuck with the crab dip, but I was drawn in to order something else because I saw the words "crab" and "mac and cheese" together. Except that it was a crab mac and cheese hotdog. And I will never forget what happened next because what I specifically asked for was the crab mac and cheese without the hotdog and the guy did, in fairness, give me what I asked for, but the thing is: he gave the crab mac and cheese to me _in a bun_. Sadly, that was the only time I have ever eaten bad crab in the state of Maryland. My partner and I once went to this terrible Irish pub in Maryland, like everything we ate was awful, but luckily, we also ordered crab cakes and, in true Maryland fashion, they were _amazing_.
> 
> [ My tumblr ](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/)


	9. Quite Extraordinary Amounts of Alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the lovely comments!! I have loved every single one.
> 
> The two songs featured in this chapter are [Thank U, Next](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OeR5XBEahU) and [ Despacito](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJQP7kiw5Fk).

The ocean was all deep blues and blacks and whites before him as Crowley dug his bare toes into the cool sand. The smell of salt was thick in the night air, warm even in December.

They had just been at an incredibly fancy rehearsal dinner, which probably had included most of the wedding guests. When the dinner was over, Anathema hadn’t wanted to hang out with her bridesmaids (which were all cousins she only just managed to tacitly get along with), so she had grabbed Aziraphale and Crowley to escape to the beach with her. She and Newt were doing the whole “not seeing each other the night before the wedding” thing.

Now the three of them were sitting side by side on the gentle slope of the beach, Anathema playing music from her phone on the other side of Aziraphale. She was still wearing a dark blue cocktail dress from the dinner, the poofy skirt splayed out on the sand.

“One taught me love!” She was singing and bouncing along, “one taught me patience!”

Aziraphale had his eyes closed and his head dipped up, his head swaying to the music. He was smiling lightly, his hair blowing gently and the bottom corners of his white button-down flapping in the breeze.

“I’ve loved and I’ve lost, but that’s not what I see!”

He was incandescent.

Anathema stopped singing to wrap her arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “This one is for you, Aziraphale!”

He started singing the chorus with her.

“Thank you, next next! Thank you, next next!”

Crowley felt a little like he was intruding on a private moment.

“Oh, this part is perfect!” Anathema exclaimed. She started to sing, pointing at Aziraphale, “They say you move on too fast, but this one gon’ last! Cause his name is Azi and you’re so good with that!” She hugged him as Aziraphale laughed his tinkling laugh.

Anathema jumped up and stretched, dropping her phone, which was still playing music.

“Let’s do something crazy! Do you want to go swimming?” She was looking at Aziraphale.

“What? No!” Aziraphale responded, scandalized.

Anathema pulled off her dress anyways, revealing her black bra and underwear, and ran down the slope of the beach and into the water, letting the waves lap at her knees. “Woohoo!” she shouted, throwing her arms up.

Aziraphale was shaking his head at her, but he had a faint smile on his lips. The song they had been singing was still playing.

_I've got so much love (love)_

_Got so much patience (patience)_

_I've learned from the pain (pain)_

_I turned out amazing (turned out amazing)_

Crowley didn’t know what to say or if he should say anything. For some reason, he wanted this moment to last. This exact moment, sitting next to Aziraphale on some foreign beach, seeing how his skin looked like stardust as the moonlight sparkled on his face and arms.

_Ain't no need for searching_

It felt out of time. It felt ancient and new at the same time. Crowley could have basked in that glow forever.

It didn’t last, though. Anathema ventured too far into the water and ran back out shivering, initiating their return to the hotel.

~ ~ ~

The ceremony took place outside on a pier at sunset. It was fairly normal, for the most part, except for when the officiant invoked the power of the four elements: Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water.

Anathema wore a flower crown and a flowing white dress that trailed behind her and had long wing sleeves with little eyelets around the edges. The dress and the flowers made her look like a deity. Newt was in a neat black suit with a bow tie. He looked like he had died and gone to Heaven.

There was a lot of clapping and crying at the ceremony and Aziraphale tried to hide his own teary eyes. Crowley politely pretended not to notice anything.

They made their way from the pier to a very upscale ballroom where there was a fancy cocktail hour followed by a fancier dinner.

There was absolutely incredible food and Crowley was quickly hooked onto watching Aziraphale delight in it all. It was like seeing someone in complete ecstasy. If he had believed in God, Crowley might have thought this was what it was to connect with the Divine.

After dinner and toasts, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves at the bar. Apparently Aziraphale liked fru fru cocktails with little umbrellas, which he proved by indulging in far too many of them. Crowley ordered bourbon, which caused a very perplexing fit of giggles from Aziraphale.

Giggling aside, Crowley and Aziraphale were having good fun at the bar, joking and laughing. It was easy to laugh. It felt like there was electricity in the air. It was that sort of pleasant buzz of adrenaline when you have nowhere to be and no cares in the world and you feel like you can do anything. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just something about weddings, but Crowley was feeling light and warm.

When his inhibitions were down enough and suit jackets had already been shed, Aziraphale wanted to start dancing. Crowley refused at first, but Aziraphale pouted and gave him those big soppy eyes, so Crowley let him drag him onto the dance floor. There was a live band playing Latin music and it seemed to play forever.

Crowley liked watching Aziraphale dance- he was a good dancer. He danced with Anathema and Newt, but he kept returning to Crowley. At some point, Crowley was drunk enough that he attempted to salsa and Aziraphale actually stopped dancing to fold over and laugh at him.

Apparently, it was tradition for the groom’s family to pay for a second band, which would “surprise” partygoers by setting up when the first one was getting ready to leave. Apparently, Newt’s family had been let in on the secret, because when the first band was done, out came the second one, playing as vigorously as the first, extending the party for another one or two hours. It was endless.

Then, after all of that, as if the dancing hadn’t gone on long enough, Newt and Anathema had an after party in their suite for “young people only”, according to Anathema.

Pop music blared as the bodies of cousins and dates and all the young acquaintances who had managed to score invites writhed to the beat of the music inside the small hotel suite’s living room area. The room was hot and sweaty and somehow, liquor was still flowing. Anathema was now in pajamas, but most people were still at least partially in wedding clothes.

Aziraphale was down to his dress shirt, bowtie gone who knows where (he had looked very sweet with the bowtie), sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar awry, shirt untucked and half unbuttoned, cotton undershirt exposed. He didn’t seem to care one bit.

Crowley was similarly disheveled, sunglasses left forgotten on the dinner table next to his plate, probably collected and discarded by the caterers by now.

Free from the prying eyes of older relatives, the dancing had become lewd.

Crowley was hiding, back pressed against a wall, but he didn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale. Despacito was playing and he was dancing now with Anathema - far too sexily. How was it even possible to be that sexy? They were practically grinding.

Anathema turned around eventually and started making out with Newt, which Newt seemed both embarrassed and delighted by.

Crowley could see Aziraphale searching then. They locked eyes and Aziraphale made a bee line for Crowley. He quickly had hold of his wrist and was pulling him away from the wall, enticing him to dance. It may have just been how densely packed the room was, but soon they were pressed up to each other and Aziraphale was dancing against Crowley’s chest.

This was far too much and Crowley didn’t know if he could stand to be in this room any longer. He bent down and let his lips brush Aziraphale’s ear as he whispered into it hoarsely, asking if he wanted some air.

Aziraphale nodded with wide eyes and one of his hands found one of Crowley’s, tangling his fingers into his. And then he was pulling Crowley through the dancing people, out of the room, and through a dimly lit hallway, the sudden quiet stark, until they stopped in a somewhat hidden and shadowy alcove where there was an ice machine running, its rumbling the only sound in the air now.

It was as if animalistic instinct took over, because Crowley didn’t remember deciding to do it, but once Aziraphale had stopped walking, Crowley was automatically pinning him against a wall with his body, his hands pressing against the wall on either side of Aziraphale’s head.

Aziraphale didn’t seem at all nervous. In fact, his eyes fluttered at Crowley with those long eyelashes before they found Crowley’s lips and lingered there for a solid 3 seconds. His eyes flicked back up to Crowley’s and he looked... hungry.

That was it. Switch flipped.

Crowley was pressing a hard, open-mouthed kiss against Aziraphale’s lips, Aziraphale responding eagerly. It was a drunken and sloppy kiss, but Crowley couldn’t get enough of it.

Aziraphale tasted like the moon and the stars and everything in between.

Aziraphale was not shy. He was running his hands up Crowley’s chest and then slipping them around Crowley’s neck and up to his head, fingers curling into his hair and pulling him deeper.

Just when Crowley thought Aziraphale couldn’t have surprised him any more, he could feel his lips hot on his neck and his fingers curling around his shirt collar, pulling, tugging, hands trying to get Crowley’s shirt off of his shoulders.

Maybe he wasn’t such an angel, after all.

Crowley’s pants started to feel far too tight.

They had separate hotel rooms, but Crowley didn’t return to his that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the two band thing is a tradition in Puerto Rico, which I learned when I was a bridesmaid for my cousin's wedding when I was 15 or 16, and I was _floored_ because I was already so tired when the second band started, haha. And after all of that, my cousin (the bride) was upset when the second band packed up.
> 
> Also, I just want to mention that my grandmother _loves_ Despacito purely because of the one line about Puerto Rico. Like she played it for me a few summers ago and was like "escuchas, esuchas, "Playa en Puerto Rico"!" laughing with glee and playing it over and over again.
> 
> UPDATE: a "deleted" explicit scene following this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772515/chapters/49360541)


	10. A Bit of a Fallen Angel

The first thing Aziraphale became aware of when he woke up was the pounding in his head. He groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead, making circles with the heal of his palm. When he finally managed to unglue his eyes, it took him a moment to register where he was.

The walls were blindingly white, as were the covers he was under.

He rolled over and froze in shock.

There was Crowley, tangled in the covers next to him and dead asleep. A rush of memories of the previous night flooded into Aziraphale’s brain. He felt his breathing pick up.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no. Not Good._

It was then that he realized his mouth and throat felt like sandpaper. Trying his best to remain calm, he carefully extricated himself from the bed, shifting everything as little as possible. At least he was clothed- an undershirt and boxers, but it could have been much worse.

He tiptoed to the bathroom and found himself at the sink. He splashed cool water on his face before finding one of those plastic cups hotel rooms always stock and tearing the plastic film packaging off with his teeth. He filled the cup with sink water, gulping it down and yet not feeling any relief for his thirst.

He had drunk it too fast.

He felt the water hit his stomach like a lead balloon.

_Oh._

He dropped to his knees and curled over the toilet, shins meeting the cold bathroom tile, hands gripping porcelain, and vomited.

He stayed in that position for a while, heaving and waiting, wondering if it was over.

Eventually, he managed to pull himself up and started to brush his teeth to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth, but even the act of teeth brushing brought with it a wave of nausea.

Coming from the room, Aziraphale heard “_Shit.”_

Crowley must have woken up. The initial exclamation was followed by a steady stream of “_Shit, shit, shit.” _Maybe he had noticed he was wearing Aziraphale’s boxers.

Aziraphale got another cup out and brought two water cups with him back to the room. Crowley was sitting up now, covers fallen from his bare chest, hair standing on end, looking very distraught. Aziraphale handed him a cup of water and he took it, not saying anything. Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed, one leg folded on the bed and the other hanging over the side, and cradled his own water, gingerly taking a sip.

He looked at Crowley, really looked at him. Aziraphale didn’t think he had ever really noticed how freckled he was. He was beautiful, even in this state. _Especially _in this state.

“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale asked gently.

“Felt better,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, I rather have as well.”

They sat in a tense silence, each focusing on their water.

“So, last night-” Aziraphale began, “that was, um,” he paused, struggling to find the right word, “_pleasant.”_ He glanced at Crowley.

“Yeah, yep, it was,” Crowley responded nervously, nodding.

Aziraphale felt a wave of relief hit him. “Oh, _good._ I’m glad you thought so, too.”

“Yeah, no, excellent,” he said, nodding rapidly before closing his eyes and making a face like he was in pain. He turned his face away, clearly embarrassed by this conversation.

This _was _a fairly embarrassing and difficult conversation to be having, but Aziraphale felt it was important to establish what this meant. And if there was any time to put himself out there, this was it.

Aziraphale summoned his courage, trying his best to ignore the pounding still in his head.

“Crowley, I- you should know that I- I quite like you.”

There it was, out in the open.

Crowley didn’t respond. He was still looking away.

Aziraphale started to panic slightly.

“Crowley…?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, then looked at the ceiling, and spoke hesitantly.

“I- um- I’m not really a relationship person.”

Aziraphale deflated.

“I see.”

It took Aziraphale a little while to figure out a way to proceed with this information.

“Well,” he said, finally, “I suppose we can put this behind us, then…”

“I think I should go to Illinois early.” He was still looking at the ceiling.

“_What?_ And Christmas? What of that?” Aziraphale’s voice may have come out a tad hysterical. The relationship thing was disappointing, though not _entirely_ unanticipated. But this? Aziraphale was dumbfounded.

“Maybe it’s best if we don’t spend it together?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale with a pained, searching expression.

The feeling of shock was followed quickly by anger.

“Oh, don’t be _ridiculous_,” Aziraphale said haughtily. Crowley flinched. “It’s quite alright if you don’t want a relationship. It shouldn’t be a surprise, really.” Somehow the pounding had become stronger. “Clearly, we were very drunk last night. _However, _we made plans, _as friends, _mind you, to spend Christmas together, and I rather think-”

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“So, your solution is to leave me _alone _on _Christmas?_”

“I don’t think I can spend Christmas with you,” he stated, eyes averted.

That one left Aziraphale at a loss for words, numbly staring, mouth agape.

Aziraphale didn’t know what to think or how to feel.

_I don’t think I can spend Christmas with you._

Should he feel hurt that Crowley couldn’t bear to spend a holiday with him?

Should he be angry at the sheer effrontery of the suggestion?

Should he feel stupid for ever thinking it would be a good idea to _change his Christmas plans _for the benefit of someone he hardly knew? Someone who, apparently, was willing to pull the rug out from under him?

What Aziraphale felt or thought didn’t matter, though, because he left. Crowley gathered his clothes and slipped out the door with some mumbled explanation about switching flights and he was gone.

There was a big after wedding brunch in the hotel lobby and Aziraphale went alone. Luckily, Newt and Anathema were preoccupied by the family surrounding them and Aziraphale only had to speak with them briefly, hugging them goodbye and making an excuse for Crowley- saying he was too hungover to say hello, but that he had passed along his well wishes. Newt and Anathema seemed hungover themselves, so they were quite understanding.

The seat next to Aziraphale on his flight home was empty.

Oftentimes, having an empty seat next to you on a flight can feel like wonderful luck. For Aziraphale this time, just seeing the emptiness of that seat caused him to have an overwhelming sensation of walls pressing in on him.

He tried to close his eyes, ignore the empty seat, keep his mind blank, but even in his effort, that seat taunted him and there were the walls, pressing.

~ ~ ~

It was rather sad, spending Christmas alone.

It was sad and that made Aziraphale angry.

How could he have done this?

What kind of a person does this?

_That bastard, _Aziraphale thought.

He had even gotten him a gift! He had seen how much he was interested in the snakes at the zoo, so he had gone back on his own to get a red and black snake plushie from the gift shop that had “National Zoo” embroidered on it in gold. It wasn’t much, but Aziraphale thought it would have been nice.

_I don’t think I can spend Christmas with you._

Perhaps he could leave it in his room out of spite. He’d have to really feel bad when he found it.

Yes, that was what Aziraphale would do.

The anger dissipated upon entry to Crowley’s room, however, replaced by a less welcome emotion.

Crowley’s room would have looked as if he had never been there if it hadn’t been for the devil mug on the desk and an array of small plants neatly lining the windowsill.

Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to leave the plushie, so instead he hugged it to his chest and collapsed back onto Crowley’s perfect bed.

It didn’t take long for the sobbing to start.

~ ~ ~

Aziraphale had taken to watering Crowley’s plants every day and it was from Crowley's room that he heard knocking on the front door. As he made his way down the steps, the knocking continued in different styles and when he came to the door, he could hear children arguing from behind it about the correct way to knock.

Aziraphale opened the door to find the four neighborhood children standing at his doorstep.

“Could we come in and have tea with you?” Adam asked.

“We usually have tea with Anathema on Saturdays,” Pepper added.

“She tells us our fortunes!” Brian exclaimed.

“But since she’s away...” Adam said, looking at Aziraphale hopefully. The sweet faces of the children warmed Aziraphale's heart.

“Of course, dears,” Aziraphale said, letting the children run into the house. They went straight to the kitchen and excitedly clamored into the chairs around the kitchen table as Aziraphale went to put the kettle on.

Aziraphale made each of the children a cup of tea and pulled up a barstool to join them at the table.

“Where’s that Mr. Crowley?” Pepper asked.

“Oh. He is away for a bit. Traveling for work,” Aziraphale said, smiling sadly.

“Aw man! I liked him!” Brian said, promptly spilling tea down his chin.

“When’s he going to be back?” Wensleydale asked.

“I’m afraid I’m not sure,” Aziraphale replied, as he handed Brian a napkin.

The children seemed to consider that thoughtfully for a moment, but quickly seemed to lose interest.

“Did you read my book?” Adam asked. Aziraphale was glad for the change of subject.

“Oh, yes, dear! It was marvelous! I think you have quite literary future ahead of you,” Aziraphale said, smiling encouragingly. Adam seemed over the moon.

“Are you any good at fortune telling?” Brian asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Aziraphale said. “But I could read to you, if you’d like. I have a few books I think you may enjoy.”

The children happily agreed and Aziraphale told them he would meet them in the living room. He brought several children’s books down that he had bought to read to Warlock and they voted on the one they wanted. 

They chose “Time Stops for No Mouse”.

He began to read from his armchair, the children piled together on the couch, listening eagerly.

“Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visitor. ‘Oh my! Oh my!’ murmured Hermux Tantamoq as he carefully examined the wristwatch. He had never seen such a beautiful watch so badly treated…”

When Aziraphale sent the children home, thinking their families would be expecting them for dinner, he promised to continue reading the story the next time they stopped by. They each hugged him tightly before running off their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Time Stops for No Mouse](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/323152.Time_Stops_for_No_Mouse) is a very sweet adventure book by Michael Hoeye.
> 
> Yes, I skipped the sex! This is what I meant by "implied sexual content" and why this is rated Mature rather than Explicit. I have, however, been toying with the idea of releasing an explicit bonus chapter at the very end after everything else so those interested could read it and those not interested could easily skip it. If you are interested, definitely let me know so I can work on it.
> 
> Feel free to find me on Tumblr: [jamgrlsblog](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/)  
(If you want that explicit chapter, but you don't want to say so in the comments, you can send me an ask on tumblr.)


	11. A Newer Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for all of the wonderful comments! I absolutely love reading your reactions!
> 
> There is a lot of interest in the explicit content, so it is in the works- more info to come.
> 
> I have been listening to a lot of music lately, so I have music pairings for some of the chapters. I meant to mention last chapter that ["Talk" by Khalid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1QZOprK7PQ) was playing in my head as I wrote it. This chapter, the song for the first half is ["Never Be Like You (Feat Kai)" by Flume.]()
> 
> CW: Mild references to alcoholism and familial abandonment

Crowley spent the holiday watching movies in his hotel room. He knew he should have probably been taking the opportunity to explore Chicago while he had time, doing something Christmassy, perhaps, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than binge crappy action movies and eat the junk food he had bought in the hotel lobby.

The thing was, he was scared shitless.

It wasn’t about having a one-night stand. Those were pretty on par for the course, really.

It wasn’t about having a one-night stand with a roommate. Sure, that kind of thing could make any living situation awkward. But in a _different_ situation, it was something that could have been gotten over.

It was about the fact that Crowley was _terrified_ of how much he liked Aziraphale.

He hadn’t been lying. He couldn’t have spent Christmas with him.

It was too mushy of a holiday.

He couldn’t have _exchanged gifts.  
_

Eaten Christmas cookies? Hung up garlands and stockings and whatever else you hang up?

Absolutely not.

It would have reminded him that the last time he had done any of that with his mom was before she had left him when he was 6.

It would have reminded him that the last time he had done it with his dad, before he had let the drink take over too much and had stopped buying things or doing anything for Christmas altogether, was when he was 11.

It would have reminded him that he never had done any of it with anyone else.

And it would have reminded him that he had never _wanted_ to do any of it with anyone else until he met Aziraphale.

He didn’t know when it started, just that it became painfully clear at the wedding. Crashing down on him like a wave from that Pacific beach he’d curled his toes in.

He didn’t exactly have good examples of healthy relationships in his life. It had been alright, though, because he hadn’t had any expectation that he would ever be in a relationship. He certainly hadn’t had any expectation that Aziraphale would have wanted to enter one with him.

It was his own fault. He had initiated the... activities of that night.

It had been a lapse of judgement, a loss of control. Not an unfamiliar occurrence, if his uni days were to be the judge. He wasn’t proud of his general lack of discretion, but it was a sort of personality flaw that he could accept most of the time.

However, _this_ time, it mattered.

It mattered because this wasn’t someone he could just forget about.

He was addicted. He wanted to spend all his time with him.

And Crowley, in all his awesome glory, had masterfully fucked up. Because, before, he could feign disinterest while still feeding his addiction surreptitiously. Now he had put _relationships _and _commitment _on the table and those were not things he could deal with.

The bus tour would only last a few weeks. They would be back in time for Groundhog Day, whatever that was. Still, it would give Crowley plenty of time to get himself together enough to face Aziraphale.

Maybe some time apart would relax things between them. Maybe they could return to detached friendship and Crowley could lock away these foreign and complex emotions and never have to trouble himself with them again.

When Crowley arrived back in Alexandria, he didn’t tell Aziraphale he was coming. In retrospect, perhaps that was a mistake.

~ ~ ~

When he saw Crowley what he felt was... _anger. _Red hot, _burning_ anger.

He should have let those plants dry out. He should have thrown them out the window.

“How was your holiday?”

That he even had the gall to ask.

“It was terrible, thanks.”

“Aziraphale, I’m really-”

Aziraphale was seething.

“I think it would be best if you didn’t talk to me,” he said, coldly, before disappearing to his room.

~ ~ ~

Weeks and weeks passed during which Crowley tried to avoid Aziraphale at all costs. He knew it was bad. He shouldn’t have left when he did.

He missed Aziraphale. It was agony living like this. Is there anything worse than missing someone and knowing they are right there but there is nothing you can do about it? But honestly, what else could he do? He couldn't have possibly fucked up more. And he knew, now, that Aziraphale was a force to be reckoned with.

Avoidance was Crowley's best option.

Luckily, Aziraphale was making himself easy to be avoided.

For a while.

On an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday evening in early March, Crowley found himself stuck in a difficult position. He was standing at the entryway between the kitchen and the living room, after having come in from work at his usual time, considering how to best reach the stairs.

The previous evenings, for _weeks_, mind you, Aziraphale had made himself scarce, clearly not wanting interaction. Which, really, Crowley thought was for the best. But _this_ evening, Aziraphale was right there in the living room, sitting in his armchair in his very familiar state of reading.

He was wearing a light grey tartan jumper, which was just so like him. Crowley observed him from behind for a little bit before deciding to take a chance at sneaking past him to the steps unnoticed.

No such luck.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale wasn’t even looking up from his book. Crowley hesitated at the foot of the stairs, considering making a run for it. “Do sit.”

Damn.

Probably best to face whatever it was now. Crowley hesitantly made his way to the couch and sat stiffly, alert.

“I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale said, placing a bookmark in his book and gently closing it. He held his book in his lap and looked at it as he continued. “Seeing as we are going to continue living together, I think perhaps we should make the best of it.”

Crowley was relieved that he wasn’t telling him off, but he was still nervous. He had no idea where he was going with this.

“_Okay_...?”

Aziraphale put his book aside and turned to face Crowley.

“You have successfully made me hate you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And I know now that I could never want a relationship with you.”

“Oh," Crowley said, scratching the back of his head. "Um. Alright?” Crowley wasn’t feeling any less puzzled. 

“Which is why, I think, we could have a bit of an arrangement.” Aziraphale was speaking in a businesslike manner, sitting very stoically with his hands folded in his lap.

“An arrangement?”

“We know now that we can have a rather enjoyable time together. And neither of us wants a relationship.”

Understanding clicked in Crowley’s brain. His throat felt dry.

“Are you suggesting...” he said slowly, “what I _think_ you are suggesting?”

“What do you think I am suggesting?” He was looking at Crowley with a stubborn fierceness that Crowley found a bit unnerving.

Crowley didn’t say anything.

Aziraphale sighed.

“I am merely suggesting that it would simply be _convenient _and _logical _for us to feel we could help each other... satisfy any other, um... _desires.”_

Crowley swallowed. “Right.”

“Does that sound amenable to you?”

Crowley nodded slowly. This was a rather surprising turn of events. But if he could have Aziraphale without the commitment or relationship stuff… it was the ideal situation.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Aziraphale said, as if they had just wrapped up a business meeting.

Aziraphale was still looking at him.

“Were you thinking... now?” Crowley asked.

“Are you interested now?”

Crowley shrugged. He was stunned, but that didn’t make the offer any less tempting.

Aziraphale got up and sat next to Crowley on the couch. He was incredibly close. Crowley could smell cologne on him. It was probably some kind of vegan cruelty free stuff. Crowley felt suddenly nervous.

“This is a bit... weird,” Crowley said.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Aziraphale said in an exasperated tone. And then he had Crowley’s collar in his hands, and he was kissing Crowley’s neck, and Crowley’s brain turned to mush.

_Oh._

Yes, this was good. A good, good idea.

Aziraphale had dexterous fingers on his shirt, unbuttoning as he kissed his way down to Crowley’s collarbone. “What do you think?” he asked breathily, between kisses.

It was a miracle Crowley managed to string any two words together.

“I think, um- _my bedroom_?”

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s lips form a smile on his chest.

“Lovely.”

~ ~ ~

Since they made the arrangement, they had been able to become friends again, in a way.

Aziraphale was very happy with the arrangement. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He could relax knowing didn’t have to worry about how unfeeling and inconsiderate Crowley had been or how different or incompatible he and Crowley were. There was really no use in continuing to be angry when Aziraphale never should have put so much energy into thinking about Cowley in the first place. All this time, Aziraphale had felt that maybe Crowley wasn’t the best person (now confirmed), and yet he had been letting his lust get the better of him, convincing himself it was something more. Now, he could finally just be attracted to Crowley without feeling guilty.

For example, when Crowley came into the kitchen and stood with the fridge door open, Aziraphale didn’t have to feel guilty about drinking in his figure from his seat at the kitchen table. He was wearing rugby shorts again. _God_ Aziraphale liked him in rugby shorts. He vaguely wondered if he played at some point. Crowley bent over to rummage through the back of the fridge, which only improved the view. When he pulled out a beer and turned, closing the fridge, he caught Aziraphale looking and gave him a small smile.

“Aziraphale- I, uh- I have a plant.”

“A plant?”

“Yes, a plant- that’s not doing well. I thought, maybe, if you wanted to come look at it, you could, you know, help me figure out what’s wrong?”

“Oh, of course.”

“It’s in my room.”

“Jolly good.”

“Right. Well, when you have a moment, then. I’ll just be, uh-” he said, gesturing towards upstairs with the bottle in his hand. “Yep,” he finished, disappearing.

When the dust settled from his exit, Anathema spoke.

“What was that?”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, resurfacing from his thoughts and looking at Anathema, who was seated next to him at the table.

“That. That exchange.”

“Oh, well, Crowley is very fond of his plants.”

“Uh huh.”

Aziraphale focused on his tea, taking a sip.

“You’re having sex, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale sputtered, choking on the tea.

“Wha- you- why would you-”

“Aziraphale, I saw you looking at his ass literally just now.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You are saying he really wants you to go to his room to check on a _plant_?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale responded stubbornly.

“Okay.”

They each took sips from their tea.

“So. Is it good?”

“What?”

“The _sex_, Aziraphale.”

“I never said-” Anathema fixed him with a skeptical look, eyebrows raised. Aziraphale sighed.

“Well if you _must _know,” Aziraphale said, irritably. “It is quite good.”

“Yeees!” Anathema smiled widely and punched Aziraphale in the arm. “Good for you!”

“That _hurt,” _Aziraphale said, rubbing his arm where she punched him.

“Do you like him?”

“Oh, no, it’s not really like that. It’s purely, well...” he made a circling gesture with his hand as if to say _‘you know_’.

“Oh. Are you okay with that?”

“It was my idea.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: a "deleted" explicit scene following this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772515/chapters/49501568#workskin)


	12. Boundaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am seriously _loving_ reading all of your reactions. I am overwhelmed, you guys are the best readers, and I love all of you.
> 
> Posted early because I am anticipating a bit of a crazy day tomorrow.

Aziraphale was making his way up the drive of the Dowling’s residence, just past the security check point, when he tripped, dropping his messenger bag and spilling quite a few books in the process. Most of them were children’s books or workbooks for Warlock. Groaning, Aziraphale squatted down to start picking them up.

As if out of nowhere, Crowley appeared in front of him. He was wearing a leather jacket because of _course _he was.

“Isn’t Warlock a little young for Shakespeare?” Crowley asked, squatting in front of him to help.

“That one is for me,” Aziraphale said, snatching the book in question. “It’s my favorite.”

“Hamlet is your favorite Shakespeare play?” Crowley asked, in judgmental tone.

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, I don’t particularly like the gloomy ones,” Crowley said, nonchalantly, handing Aziraphale a level 6 grammar workbook.

“I think the comedies lack the depth of plays like Hamlet or Macbeth or Othello,” Aziraphale said pompously, accepting the book and shoving it in his bag with the others.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Much Ado About Nothing? Twelfth Night? Love’s Labour’s Lost? Are those not sophisticated social commentaries?” Oh, he thought he was so clever.

“What are you even doing here?” Aziraphale asked, putting the last few books in his bag and standing up huffily.

“I’m here to see Mr. Dowling,” he said, standing as well and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his far too tight jeans. “Impressed him in Illinois, I suppose. He offered to let me see his vintage car collection, maybe even let me take one for a spin.”

“You are going to take one of Mr. Dowling’s cars ‘for a spin’? You realize that they drive on the opposite side of the road here?”

“_Yes, _Angel, I’m aware. I think I can handle it,”

“Would you not call me that?”

“What?”

“‘_Angel’. _I don’t think it’s appropriate.”

Crowley shrugged that infuriatingly casual shrug.

“Fine. You’re still welcome to call me ‘Handsome Devil’ though, if you like.” He lowered his sunglasses to give Aziraphale a wink.

“You are _incorrigible_.”

Crowley replaced his sunglasses and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “That’s not what you said last night.”

Aziraphale felt the blood rushing to his face. He responded in an angry whisper. “_Perhaps_ this arrangement is not going to work after all.” 

Crowley stood straight and put his hands up in surrender.

“Just teasing,” he said. “I’ll see you at home.” He gave Aziraphale a quick peck on the cheek before turning on his heels and raising one hand in a wave as he sauntered off, leaving Aziraphale shocked and befuddled. Goodbye cheek kisses were _not _part of the arrangement.

A tinny voice rang through the air to Aziraphale’s right. “Is that your _boyfriend, _Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale turned to see Warlock standing a few feet away in the grass, an air-soft gun hanging loosely from his hand.

“No, it’s not,” he said, crossing his arms. “But that’s really none of your business, anyways.”

“I _knew_ you liked _boys!” _he exclaimed with the boyhood delight of a child who has caught an adult breaking a rule.

“First of all, there is nothing wrong with that,” Aziraphale said, making his way to the child. He held his hand out for the air soft gun and Warlock reluctantly handed it over. “Second of all, you are not getting out of doing your grammar worksheets.” Warlock tossed his head back and groaned. “Pip pip!” Aziraphale gently turned the boy towards the house by his shoulders before making his way purposely towards the house, the child dragging his feet behind him.

~ ~ ~

Mr. Dowling’s car collection was _incredible. _The house had a massive 5 car garage where the collection lived.

He had a 1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo and 1961 Chevy Impala, even a 1948 Cadillac Convertible, but the most impressive one by far was the 1926 Bentley. Crowley circled the car closely, leaning in to examine and touch the details on the body.

“Does she drive?” he asked.

“Like new,” responded Mr. Dowling, proudly. “Do you want to take her out?”

Crowley looked up at Mr. Dowling to see if he was being sincere. He was.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

~ ~ ~

“Alright, Warlock, we’ve got another half an hour to be together. What do you say to reading the next chapter of the Guardians of Ga’hoole?” They were sitting at a small work table where Warlock had just finished his worksheets.

“_Ugh. _I _hate _books.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale said in a feigned serious tone. “Yes, that’s right. My mistake.”

“You could just go home early.”

“No, I’m afraid your parents wouldn’t approve of that.” Aziraphale furrowed his brows and pretended to think of an idea. “You know,” he said conspiratorially, “I’ve got some paper and pencils in my bag. We could go to the living room and you can draw or make paper airplanes or whatever you like and I will read aloud, but you don’t have to listen. But, this way, if anyone walks by, it will _seem _as though you are listening and I am reading to you and then neither of us will get in trouble.”

Warlock considered that for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Okay.”

When they arrived to the living room, Warlock excitedly began rifling for paper and pencils out of Aziraphale’s bag while he still had it strapped over himself, Aziraphale pausing his movement to let him. Warlock took his loot to lay around him as he splayed on his stomach on the hardwood floor. Aziraphale settled near him on the large and expensive looking sectional couch, fishing out the book they had been reading.

As Aziraphale read, he occasionally glanced over the book at Warlock. He had attempted a few paper airplanes but had then moved on to drawing a scene with owls and a bright moon.

“Hey, Aziraphale?” Aziraphale stopped reading and looked around to find Crowley popping his head into the room. “Sorry. One of the security guys said I would find you here. Didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“It’s alright. Go ahead.”

Warlock was looking up curiously.

“I just thought, well it’d be silly to take two cars back. The environment or something, right? So, I thought I’d wait for you.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s sensible.” Aziraphale looked at his watch. “I’m meant to be here just 10 more minutes, so you can join us for a bit.”

Crowley entered the room tentatively.

“Are you Mr. Fell’s boyfriend? Mr. Fell said no.”

“Oh, well, why don’t you believe Mr. Fell?”

Warlock shrugged.

“We’re just friends. And roommates,” Crowley said, moving to sit on the floor with Warlock.

“Why did you kiss Mr. Fell, then?”

Crowley laughed. “That was friendly.”

“Oh. Do you like boys, though? Like romantically? Or do you like girls?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale for help. All he could do was give him a ‘beats me’ expression. He turned back to Warlock, who was looking at him expectantly.

“I like boys and girls.”

“You can do that?”

Crowley laughed again. “Yes.”

Warlock turned to Aziraphale. “Do you like boys and girls, Mr. Fell?”

“No, dear, just boys,” Aziraphale said gently, smiling at the boy.

“Oh.” He returned his interest to Crowley.

“Is that a tattoo on your face?”

Crowley smiled and touched his tattoo. “Yes.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Thanks.”

“I want a shark tattoo!”

“That would be very cool.”

“You can draw with me, if you want,” Warlock suggested, pointing to his paper and pencils.

“I love drawing.”

“Alright, then, where was I?” Aziraphale asked, returning to the book.

“Soren and Gylfie were trying to escape St. Aggie’s,” Warlock said, returning to his drawing of the two owls, which remarkably resembled the owls Soren and Gylfie.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

When Aziraphale finished the chapter, more than 10 minutes had passed. He bid Warlock goodbye, letting him hold on to the paper and pencils. Warlock nodded, acknowledging the goodbye, but remaining intently focused on drawing.

Crowley and Aziraphale went out to the drive and began walking down to the security check point together where they would meet the car that would take them home. The sun felt warm and pleasant and there was something nice about walking down the drive together.

“I didn’t know you were bisexual,” Aziraphale said, conversationally, after they had been walking quietly for some time.

“I didn’t think it was particularly relevant information to share.” Crowley had his hands in his pockets, as usual. “Anyways, I sort of thought you knew.”

“Why would I know?”

“You know I fancy Jodie Whittaker.”

Aziraphale felt quite thick. “Of _course_.”

“That doesn’t change things, does it?”

“No, no, it’s just-” Aziraphale twisted the strap of his messenger bag where he was holding onto it with both hands.

“What?”

“It just makes me think about how little I really know about you.”

“Aziraphale, you know me _biblically. _What more is there to know?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Nevertheless, you handled that well. You are quite good with children, you know.”

“I can’t imagine I’m as good as you. He clearly likes you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, though he doesn’t want me to know. I’m going to be at that Easter event, you know. Usually they have more of a nanny type person with him at events like that, but Mrs. Dowling said he requested me specifically.”

They had made it to the car, which was waiting for them. The conversation lulled as they rode home since there was a driver with them.

After walking together into the house quietly, Aziraphale began to discard his bag and shoes at the door.

He had barely put his bag down when he felt arms wrap around him from behind, leather and zippers against his back as Crowley pressed kisses to the back of his head and to his cheek and neck.

“Really, dear?” he said irritably. “We have hardly darkened the doorstep.”

He felt himself being gently turned around. Crowley’s sunglasses were hanging from his jacket and he was looking at Aziraphale with an intensity he wasn’t used to.

“Wha- what has gotten into you?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s face gently with one hand and then he met his lips with the most tender of kisses. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut and he felt a little shiver go down his spine. He was left breathless when Crowley pulled away, resting his forehead against his.

Aziraphale leaned in, craving more, but Crowley disappeared, leaving Aziraphale dazed and confused, blinking at the steps he didn’t even see Crowley scale.

This was getting into dangerous territory. They really needed to have a conversation about boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally meet Warlock!!! The book they are reading is [ The Capture](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35805.The_Capture), which is the first book in the Guardians of Ga'Hoole series by Kathryn Lasky.
> 
> Also, Aziraphale forgot that bi people exist. It's okay, we're used to it.
> 
> Finally, please enjoy this lovely [fanart](https://lilianriekeart.tumblr.com/post/187428939843/this-one-was-so-much-fun-i-wanted-to-kind-of-get) of Crowley in a leather jacket which I found _after_ writing this chapter.
> 
> Okay, here is the promised info about the explicit content: As you may have noticed, it can be safe to assume these guys have sex _more than once._ Lucky for you, I have fallen off the deep end and decided to publish a separate work as a companion piece with _5 chapters_ worth of selected "deleted" scenes. Even luckier, you are already being gifted with [Chapter 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772515/chapters/49360541). Merry Christmas.


	13. Sweet Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is Pride Weekend in my city! Check out [me and my partner.](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/post/188008287153/its-pride-weekend-in-my-city-gettinbi-featuring#notes) I don't know why this looks terrible on my blog but normal on my dash, but you can click through to see cute pics. I don't actually know how to use tumblr, lol.
> 
> The song in this chapter is [Oh! Sweet Nuthin'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YjYrfV2xIwI) by the Velvet Underground.

Crowley, Aziraphale, Anathema, and Newt had been at a Japanese street festival in downtown D.C. for several hours. Apparently, it was part of an even bigger festival that went on for weeks celebrating Washington’s cherry blossom trees. 

They had been wandering down a long street with blocks and blocks of vendors selling art or street food or other artisan crafts, stylized booths everywhere. The only cherry blossoms in sight were those painted on banners and tents, along with writing in Japanese characters. They had stopped for a while to watch a performance on a large temporary stage- some kind of dance troop- but had mostly been walking through the vendors.

The cold was surprisingly biting for April, and Crowley wished he had worn a thicker jacket, but otherwise he was glad to be out with everyone. The festival was completely packed with tourists- people with giant cameras around their necks, big family groups with strollers and children of various ages all trying to stay together, people speaking different languages.

Aziraphale had actually spoken in broken Japanese to a vendor, which was how Crowley found out that Aziraphale had spent time in Japan after his undergraduate degree in some program where he got to live there and teach English. Crowley wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or jealous. 

He ended up settling on impressed because it was hard to harbor ill will towards someone who was so happy and excited to be somewhere. He had clapped enthusiastically for the performance they had seen and seemed to want to stop at every booth and, when they passed a particular food vendor, he had insisted that everyone get these chicken skewers the vendor was selling. 

Crowley had to admit that they really were very good.

Crowley was still working on his skewer when they stopped at yet another vendor where Aziraphale became enamored with a traditional Japanese teapot.

He fussed over it, pointing out the minute details to the three of them and saying how beautiful it was.

“Do you want it?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, no, it’s far too expensive,” Aziraphale said.

“Are you sure? I can buy it for you.”

“Oh, no no no no,” Aziraphale said with wide eyes and a slight flush to his cheeks. Crowley saw Newt and Anathema exchange a look he didn’t understand before they made excuses to find a trash can to dispose of the skewer sticks. 

“I couldn’t possibly let you-” Aziraphale continued in a low voice when Anathema and Newt had disappeared.

“Why not?” Crowley was making more money than he knew what to do with working on the Dowling campaign. “You’re a student, I’m not.”

Aziraphale looked uncomfortable. “You know, I’m not sure I really care for it after all.”

“Something else, then? We’ve stopped at all these booths and you haven’t bought a single thing.” Crowley didn’t try to hide his exasperation.

“There’s nothing I want," he said, in the voice he used when he was going to be stubborn.

“Nothing? Really?” Crowley said, skeptically. “How about this?” Crowley pointed to a hand painted fan that looked similar to one Aziraphale had been looking at earlier.

“Crowley, you do not need to buy me anything,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“It’s not a big deal, Aziraphale. You are obviously into this stuff and we’re friends. Just think of it as a belated Christmas present. Or an early birthday present. When is your birthday, anyways?” Crowley took another bite of chicken. He didn’t understand what the problem was.

“May,” Aziraphale said with eyes averted, seemingly fiddling with something in his coat pocket.

“_May?_ Well that’s soon!” Crowley said through a mouthful of chicken. “Birthday present, then.” Crowley went ahead and bought the fan before Aziraphale could protest any more and shoved the little bag the seller put it in towards him. Aziraphale took the bag begrudgingly before thanking the vendor profusely and then scurrying off. Crowley thought that was quite odd. The vendor didn’t seem to care one way or another and was already talking to another group of people. 

By the time Crowley caught back up to the group, he saw that Aziraphale and Anathema were charging ahead with linked arms while Newt lagged behind, waving to Crowley.

Crowley quickly finished his skewer so he could get rid of the stick and then he fell into step with Newt, following the others from a generous distance.

They walked in silence, which suited Crowley just fine. There was no more stopping at booths and it was sometimes hard to keep the others in sight with all the people filling the street, but they just kept trudging along.

“We should hang out more,” Newt said, breaking Crowley out of his silent contemplative state. Crowley just gave him a quizzical look. “Well, you know, since Aziraphale and Anathema hang out so much, I thought we could?”

“Um, sure?”

“I sometimes am the odd one out, you know? But since you’re in a bit of a similar situation, well, I thought, while they’re doing whatever they are doing, we can have our time, you know, like guy time.”

This conversation was only getting weirder.

"Aziraphale is a guy, too."

"Yeah, I know, but, I mean, since they go off together, and we are both left alone."

“Aziraphale and I are not _together_,” Crowley said slowly.

“No, I know! I didn’t mean!” Newt responded, slightly panicked. Crowley suddenly had the distinct suspicion that Newt knew more than he let on, which made Crowley feel uncomfortably exposed. He really wished he had worn a thicker jacket.

Crowley tried to let it go and return to his thoughts, but Newt kept talking.

“I was just thinking, you know, since you are around... do you like video games?”

“No.”

“Right, okay. Sports?”

“Not really?” Crowley had played some sports in his youth, but he wasn’t really much of a team player. And he certainly didn’t follow national teams or anything like that.

“Yeah, I don’t either, I’m not sure why I brought that one up-“ Newt seemed to be struggling to come up with more ‘man’ things. “Cars?” he said hopefully.

Crowley wasn’t sure how to respond because, of course, he _loved_ cars, but somehow he didn’t think someone with a Ford Focus that had received every recall imaginable would have quite the same understanding of them. Newt seemed to take the lack of response as a yes and ploughed onwards.

Newt wasn’t actually hopeless when it came to cars (which made Crowley wonder more strongly why he had chosen such a terrible one) and they at least had a decent conversation.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was having a frantic conversation with Anathema far in front of them, arms still linked.

“I really hate him,” he said in dismay.

“Why? He’s a good guy!” 

“I’m not so certain about that,” Aziraphale said bitterly.

“Az, he bought you a craft at a festival.”

“After I specifically asked him not to!” Why wasn’t Anathema on his side on this? “It is as if he purposely trying to get under my skin.”

“I don’t think that’s what he’s trying to do.”

“It is. He’s taunting me.”

Anathema sighed. “I think maybe this thing you are doing is not such a great idea,” Anathema said gently.

Aziraphale slowed his pace, Anathema slowing with him. That caused people from all directions to nearly crash into them, but Aziraphale hardly noticed. He breathed out heavily. “It’s... fine,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound all that convincing,”

“No, really, it is. I feel comfortable with him. He’s really very...” Aziraphale whispered the last word, “giving.”

Anathema whispered back. “Isn’t that the problem?”

Aziraphale wished he could say more. About how he was scared of doing something like that with a stranger, about how it was just about setting clearer boundaries, about how he was still scared because of his experience with Gabriel, but Crowley made him feel safe and secure and confident, about how he still _craved_ Crowley even after everything and how Crowley was dangerously intoxicating- okay, maybe that last one wouldn’t be a good one to share. They had reached the gates of the festival, though, and Anathema insisted they wait for the others to make sure they were okay with exiting. Aziraphale protested because he was feeling embarrassed and didn’t want to have to face Crowley- why did he have to feel embarrassed half of the time they were together? But Anathema was adamant.

At least Crowley had stopped with the unsolicited kissing and touching. Maybe this, the gift, was _okay_.

As the others were closing in on them, Anathema gave Aziraphale’s hand a little squeeze and whispered in his ear. “Just be careful, okay?” Anathema reached a hand out for Newt and they walked ahead through the gate hand in hand, presumably towards the actual cherry blossom trees. Of course she would just leave him alone.

Aziraphale found an old movie ticket stub in one of his coat pockets to fiddle with and wordlessly turned when Crowley reached him, allowing him to walk alongside him.

As they got away from the street festival, the trees began to come into view, beautiful as always, totally covered in white and pink flowers. The crowds didn’t thin- there were just as many people taking pictures and enjoying the trees as they came to a water’s edge. It was a large circular body of water, a pond or something, surrounded by cherry blossoms, the Jefferson Memorial visible on the other side.

“I suppose I should say thank you,” Aziraphale said, focusing on the Grecian style building across the way. “For the gift, I mean.”

“No need,” was all Crowley said.

“I do like it. The fan.”

“Thought you would.”

“No birthday present, though.”

“Fine.”

Anathema wanted a picture with Newt then and Aziraphale took the opportunity to be photographer as a welcome distraction. He took several photos of the two of them and then she found a passerby to take a group photo of the four of them. Aziraphale intentionally stood on the other side of the pair from Crowley.

Anathema discreetly asked if he wanted a picture with Crowley and he assured her that he didn’t, and she didn’t push it. 

They didn’t stay enjoying the cherry blossoms for too long because it was quite crowded, quite cold, and everyone was probably starting to feel a bit grumpy. The metro ride was crowded and piling into Newt’s small car at the Alexandria station was a tad uncomfortable.

When they made it back to their houses, Aziraphale went straight to his bedroom to decompress. He placed the bag with the fan in it on his desk without bothering to take it out. Instead, he collapsed onto his bed and lay with his eyes open, wallowing in self-pity and confused feelings. He was angry at Crowley again and was thinking maybe Anathema was right and they should break this thing off, but he also really_ really_ didn’t want to.

After some time, music started coming through the shared wall between his and Crowley’s bedrooms. Aziraphale strained to hear it, though once he started listening for it, he realized it was coming through the wall quite clearly.

_Say a word for Jimmy Brown_  
_He__ ain't got nothing at all_  
_Not a shirt right of his back_  
_ He ain't got nothing at all_

There was something melancholy about the music. And it was _Crowley's_ music. And it was beautiful.

Aziraphale couldn't do anything except curl around a pillow in a fetal position and listen along, trying not to let himself cry.

_And this is what he said_  
_Oh sweet nuthin'_  
_ She ain't got nothing at all_  
_ Oh sweet nuthin'_  
_ She ain't got nothing at all_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, there is something so intimate about listening to someone else's music! I spent a lot of time listening to the Velvet Underground to find a good song for this and found, to my surprise, that I like the Velvet Underground.
> 
> The chicken skewers they are eating are a Japanese street food called [Yakitori](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yakitori) and it is bomb.
> 
> The event was the [Sakura Matsuri Japanese Street Festival](https://nationalcherryblossomfestival.org/event/sakura-matsuri-japanese-street-festival/), which occurs as part of the National Cherry Blossom Festival in D.C.
> 
> We can thank reader handwrittenhello for the existence of this chapter! Reader handwrittenhello suggested featuring the Cherry Blossom Festival in the comments and it was such a wonderful challenge and ended up being a great setting for character development, so thank you, friend! (If there is something you want to see, it won't make it to this main work (I finished it!!!) but that doesn't mean I wouldn't write a companion piece or something, so never be afraid of commenting!)


	14. The Fruit of Knowledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mild references to alcoholism and familial abandonment

As a high-ranking State Department official, Mr. Dowling and his family got special entry to the Annual White House Easter Egg Roll. As Mr. Dowling’s prized schmoozer, Crowley managed to get in as well. His job was to talk Mr. Dowling up with current senators to help position him for getting on an important committee if and when he joined the senate. 

The White House lawn was bustling with activity: bands playing, competitions being set up, craft stations, crowds of children and parents and grandparents in their brightly colored Easter best. It was a glorious sunny day and the cherry blossoms were still in full bloom.

Crowley knew Aziraphale would be there with Warlock and he was hoping he could find him and blow off work for a while. Crowley didn’t find it hard to ingratiate himself with politicians, but it could be draining, and he would much rather at least enjoy some of the festivities with his friend.

As Crowley wandered through the masses of people, he began to think about his friend, if that’s what he was. It was an odd situation. 

He’d never had anything so intimate with someone before. They had sex, yes, but they also spent quite a lot of time together, at least hanging out at home or with their little friend group. Crowley had learned Aziraphale’s little quirks and the things that made him laugh or glare. 

Despite what he had said to Newt, it _did_ feel a lot like they were together, except, of course they _weren’t, _and anyways, they didn’t really go out and do things together on their own and Aziraphale had shut down displays of non-sexual affection pretty quickly.

Crowley didn’t know why he was compelled to touch and kiss Aziraphale in a non-sexual way, or why he wanted to buy him things, like that fan. He had never really felt these things for anyone before.

It’s not that he had changed his mind at all about relationships, it was just one of those impulses he had to reign in.

Crowley was beginning to think he would never find Aziraphale in the never-ending crowds when he heard a familiar whiny voice.

“This is _lame, _Mr. Fell! Everything here is for _babies_!”

Crowley had never been so thankful to hear that voice.

“I’m sure there is _something-”_

Crowley scanned the crowd and saw Aziraphale and Warlock under the shade of a cherry blossom tree, Aziraphale squinting at his phone and scrolling intently. Aziraphale was in one of those patterned button-downs that Crowley loved. This one was white with little black polka dots on it.

As Crowley made his way to them, he witnessed Warlock wrestling the phone out of Aziraphale’s hand to look at it himself, Aziraphale watching him with a frown. 

“Look who it is!” Crowley called when he had gotten close to them. 

Aziraphale looked up and shot Crowley a brilliant smile, exclaiming his name before he seemed to catch himself and rearranged his face into a more neutral expression.

“What are you two up to?” Crowley asked when he reached them.

“Well, not quite sure yet,” Aziraphale said, glancing at Warlock, who still had his phone. Warlock looked up at Crowley.

“What’s your name, again?” Warlock asked.

“You can call me Crowley.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“First of all, it’s my last name. Second of all, your name is Warlock,” Crowley pointed out. Warlock blinked at him.

“Touché.” He turned to Aziraphale. “Can we go to the cooking class?”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled as he smiled down at him. “Of course, dear.”

“I can bring two grown-ups,” he said, looking pointedly at Crowley.

Crowley looked to Aziraphale, who raised his eyebrows in invitation. Crowley was honestly surprised to receive that look since it seemed Aziraphale had been trying to avoid him lately. But Crowley _had _spent all this time looking for him, so he wasn’t about to give up the opportunity.

In his best attempt to seem casual, he gave a little shrug. “Alright, I’ll come along.”

As they wandered through the crowds looking for the cooking class location, they didn’t talk really, but Crowley took the opportunity to look surreptitiously at Aziraphale. Upon closer inspection, Crowley could tell that the polka dots on his shirt were actually tiny songbirds. Something about that made the shirt even more endearing.

They found the cooking tent and put on aprons that were handed to them as they entered. Upon arriving at a cooking station, they discovered that they were making several different types of pancakes. Warlock was very jazzed for the chocolate chip ones.

There was a cooking instructor giving directions and wandering around to help the families between doing demonstrations.

“Moms and dads: make sure you are checking measurements before anything is put in your bowls,” the instructor said.

“Did you check his measurements, _Dad_?” Crowley teased, earning a Look from Aziraphale, who did in fact proceed to check Warlock’s measurements, albeit irritably.

“I wish you _were _my dad,” Warlock said as he started whisking ingredients in his bowl as Aziraphale poured.

“Oh, don’t say that, my dear. Your mother and father love you very much,” Aziraphale said.

“Maybe my mom, but not my dad,” Warlock grumbled. “He’s never around.”

“He’s just very busy, dear.”

“You know,” Crowley cut in. “I was really just with my dad growing up and he wasn’t very good at being a dad, so I think I might know how you feel.”

“Really?” Warlock stopped whisking to look at Crowley.

“You are lucky, though. You have something that I didn’t.”

“Yeah I know,” he said, turning back to the bowl. “I have lots of cool stuff and all.”

“No, not that. You have people like your mom and Mr. Fell and other people that care about you.”

“I guess,” Warlock said. He went back to whisking and Aziraphale looked at Crowley curiously, but didn’t say anything.

They made fairly decent pancakes that the three of them shared. It was pretty fun making the pancakes with the two of them.

Warlock’s next desired spot was face painting so he could have a snake painted on his face to match Crowley’s tattoo.

Warlock ran to get in the face painting line while Crowley and Aziraphale fell behind.

“May I ask-” Aziraphale said hesitantly, “about your father?”

Crowley looked at his feet, hands finding the pockets of his suit, as they continued walking.

“Not much to know.”

Aziraphale waited silently.

“He was an alcoholic,” Crowley said simply. “Well, is, I just don’t speak to him.”

“Ah.” They decided to stand to the side of the line rather than join Warlock in it. “No other parents?”

“Ngg...”

“You don’t have to talk about it, I apologize.”

“No, it’s alright. My mum left when I was a kid, that’s all.” Crowley dug the toe of his dress shoe into the ground and continued, not sure why. “She, um, met someone and became born again. She left with him to start a whole new family. When she left, my dad started drinking.”

“I’m so sorry, Crowley.”

Crowley looked out into the crowd, unable to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. This wasn’t something he had ever talked about with anyone. But then again, who had ever asked? “I wanted to understand it, you know? I tried to get into the Bible and all in uni, but I just didn’t get it. The tattoo was sort of a rebellion.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the snake. It stuck with me. I thought the snake was right.”

“Are you referring to the serpent of Eden?”

“Yeah. What’s so wrong with knowing the difference between good and evil?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale and saw concern in his eyes. He immediately regretted oversharing.

“It’s also just badass,” Crowley said, looking away.

“Yes, it is,” Aziraphale said, much too gently.

Warlock ran up to them, his face with a snake on it, ready to do something else. There was an ice cream stand not far away that Aziraphale suggested they go to.

When they got to the stand, Warlock got rocky road in a massive waffle cone and Aziraphale got a small vanilla cone.

“Crowley, dear, do you want anything?”

“Nah,” he said.

“Are you sure? My treat.”

“Come on, Crowley!” Warlock said.

“Alright, um, a red lolly, I suppose.”

Aziraphale turned to the ice cream seller and asked for a ‘cherry popsicle’, handing it back to Crowley and paying for the three of them.

Right then, Crowley saw Hastur only a few meters away. “Shit,” he said. “I have to go pretend I’m working. Sorry guys, gotta run.” Crowley handed the lolly back to Aziraphale and slipped away, getting as far away from Hastur as fast as he could.

~ ~ ~

That night, Aziraphale initiated the sex. 

That wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, but he brought Crowley to his own disaster of a bedroom, which was _incredibly_ out of the ordinary. Aziraphale’s bed was very untidy, clothes everywhere, bed sheets in shambles, but somehow that made it feel warmer, homier. The sex was different, too. Aziraphale was much more tender than usual, even kissing Crowley’s tattoo.

It felt, well- Crowley wasn’t sure how to describe it. What’s the opposite of spooky? It felt like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warlock is back!!
> 
> I have never been to the Easter Egg Roll, but you can read about it [here!](https://www.whitehouse.gov/eastereggroll/)
> 
> UPDATE: a "deleted" explicit scene following this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772515/chapters/49739360#workskin)


	15. 8th Circle of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for skipping last Sunday's update! I updated the companion work instead. The next two Sundays will also be missing updates because I am going to the beach both weekends! We will still get Thursday updates (except tomorrow). October 18th update: we went to the beach a day early, I am not sure when the next update will be, but probably next week!
> 
> I can finally announce now that I am fairly certain there will be a total of 18 chapters, so we are almost there, y'all!
> 
> CW: Internal discussion about abuse. Also the lyrics to [Bohemian Rhapsody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJ9rUzIMcZQ), which are actually pretty dark and reference suicidal thoughts?

Aziraphale invited Crowley to stay with him- spend the night in his room. Crowley couldn’t possibly refuse. 

It was such a complete change of pace, but Crowley hardly had reason to complain. 

When they were both in soft pajamas, lights off, Aziraphale was under the covers, beckoning for Crowley to join him. When Crowley did, Aziraphale was wrapping him in his arms. They stayed like that for a while, spooning, and Crowley could have cried because of how good it felt to be held like that.

Late at night, on nights Crowley couldn’t sleep, he often felt small and alone. Insignificant in a universe full of unfathomable expanses and a world full of love he never felt.

On this night, Crowley felt wonderfully warm. Like there was a shield protecting him from the cold, outside world.

Aziraphale eventually fell away from him in sleep. 

Crowley adjusted himself in the covers and tried his best to go to sleep as well.

When he awoke, it must have been the wee hours of morning because the light filtering in from behind the blinds of the windows was dim and pink. It was enough light that Crowley could see Aziraphale next to him, completely serene, tufts of blond fluff framing his face. He was lying on his back, a bit more splayed out than Crowley was used to seeing him. His arms rested on his pillow in a halo around his head, one hand grasping the back of the pillow, the other resting gently against the headboard. 

Crowley shifted closer, daring Aziraphale to notice. He nudged his head onto Aziraphale’s chest and, although he didn’t seem to wake up, Aziraphale’s arm drifted down and loosely draped around Crowley’s torso.

It felt nice and natural, but Crowley was also impatient. Crowley nuzzled his face into Aziraphale’s chest. “Angel?”

Aziraphale hummed, but otherwise didn’t respond. Crowley lifted his head to look at Aziraphale’s face, hovering over him. “Angel, _wake up_.”

Aziraphale scrunched his face and squirmed. “‘s too early.”

“Aziraphale, I want to talk to you.”

Aziraphale blinked his eyes open in confusion and looked at Crowley, who he still had his arm around.

“You know I’m going back to Illinois?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“I’m going in a few weeks and I’ll definitely be gone until the primary elections in July, and then if he wins, I’ll be there all the way until November for the general election.”

Aziraphale nodded again.

“Would you come with me? To Illinois? I’ll be traveling some, but most of the time I will be in the office in Chicago. We could get a place there, together.”

Aziraphale looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Crowley, dear, you know I can’t do that.”

“I don’t know that,” Crowley said, petulantly.

“I’ve got school.”

“Just for the summer, then.”

“I’ve still got to be here to work on my thesis.”

Crowley sat up abruptly and looked away, Aziraphale’s arm falling from him. It was such an impromptu and desperate request, but in less than 24 hours, he had bared more of himself than he ever had before and desperation was pouring over him.

After a moment, Aziraphale sat up next to him. Crowley could feel the stiffness of Aziraphale’s cotton pinstripe pajama sleeve grazing his bare arm. It was much hotter and thicker than his own black silk.

“Darling,” Aziraphale said softly, almost a whisper. “Even if I could, if I were to go with you, what would I be to you?” Crowley didn’t respond. He hadn’t thought of that, just that he didn’t want to leave without him. Aziraphale gently took Crowley’s hand between both of his. “I understand, now, I think, why you struggle with intimacy.” He paused and gently caressed Crowley’s hand with his thumb. “But I have needs, too, and I can’t just be your pet.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. “My pet?”

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly, fixing him in an unwavering gaze laden with care and concern. “I won’t come when called.”

Crowley didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just pulled his hand out of Aziraphale’s grasp and got out of bed. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Of course, dear.”

Crowley left the house, but he didn’t go to work. Mr. Dowling had said he could take the Bentley out any time he wanted.

~ ~ ~

Aziraphale was in his small office in the gothic academic building, sitting at his desk, attempting to focus on his research. He had his Hebrew dictionary, a Hebrew Bible, interpretation literature, and several English translation bibles scattered across his desk. However, it was difficult to concentrate on the multiple possible connotations and meanings of a specific word in a specific passage when his brain was rattled by thoughts of a certain roommate.

Oh, _Crowley._

He wasn’t cruel at all, as Aziraphale had once thought. Just a little broken. But, oh, so beautiful.

He thought so deeply about things and he really must have been in so much pain. Aziraphale thought maybe he didn’t even know how much he desperately needed human connection and friendship and love. And that’s why he was the way he was. 

Knowing him more fully now, seeing his vulnerability, it was as if Aziraphale had been looking at the stars from within a city all this time- still beautiful, but nothing compared to when you got out into the country, free of light pollution, and really saw all the stars in their multitude for the first time.

Aziraphale thought maybe he loved him. He thought maybe he loved him very much.

But he couldn’t afford to be in yet another unhealthy relationship.

So, whatever it was Crowley was still dealing with, he would have to deal with it on his own.

There was a knocking on the door and Aziraphale figured it was probably an undergraduate student looking for help on the Intro to Biblical Literature homework. “Come in!” he called, without getting up from his desk.

The door swung open.

_Speak of the devil._

“_Gabriel?_ What on Earth are you doing here?”

There he was, looming at the door like a terrifying ghost of Aziraphale’s past. 

“I’m on campus for Bob Goff’s talk later today in the theater. Just thought I would drop by while I was here.”

Bob Goff. _That’s right._ Aziraphale had meant to go to that, maybe get his copy of his book signed. It was a testament to how rattled he was that he had forgotten about something so exciting.

“_You _have read _Love, Does?” _Aziraphale had a hard time believing that Gabriel would have, first of all, read a book at all, and, second of all, read anything with the word ‘love’ in the title.

“A bunch of members of my congregation just read it for the church book club I am leading!”

“Oh, _good Lord_. I can’t believe someone put you in charge of a _book club_.”

“I’m an associate pastor now, it’s kind of part of the territory,” Gabriel said, arrogantly. “Also, I’m surprised I have to tell _you_ of all people not to take the Lord’s name in vain.” Gabriel walked in and took one of Aziraphale’s books off of his desk to examine it. “Man, I’m glad I’m not here anymore,” he said, lazily tossing the book back onto the desk. He was really pushing it.

“Is there anything particular that you wanted?” Aziraphale asked through clenched teeth.

“Just wanted to catch up!” he said, clapping his hands together.

“Mmhmm." 

“How’s your fella doing?” he asked, moving to examine a bookshelf near Aziraphale’s desk.

“My fella?”

“Not still with that guy, are you?” He made a face then began pulling books out of Aziraphale’s bookshelf, looking at them with mild interest and then haphazardly shoving them back with an infuriating lack of respect. “I gotta tell you, Zira, you could do better. I mean, that guy looked a little shifty to me.”

Okay, this was enough.

“Gabriel, I think it would be for the best if you left.”

Gabriel dropped the book he was in the middle of violating and turned and looked at him, shoulders raised and arms forming a ‘w’. “What? Can’t a guy catch up with an old friend?”

Aziraphale stood up, hands pressed firmly against his desk. “We are not friends and I strongly suggest that you get the hell out of my office before I call security.”

Gabriel looked taken aback and held a hand in front of himself in a defensive fashion. “Woah, sorry, I didn’t know you were on your period.”

“Gabriel, if you would please, kindly, fuck off.” Aziraphale picked up the phone to start dialing, but, thankfully, Gabriel got the message. Once Gabriel was out of the office, Aziraphale locked the door.

~ ~ ~ 

Crowley had been driving around in the Virginia suburbs listening to “Queen’s Best Hits” for several hours. He was happy that Mr. Dowling had installed a somewhat modern stereo system in the car, but he only had one cd in the glove compartment. So, Queen’s Best Hits it was. It was a good thing he liked Queen.

_…Caught in a landslide. No escape from reality. Open your eyes. Look up to the skies and see. I’m just a poor boy. I need no sympathy…_

Not that it was properly doing its job of distracting.

_…Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me. To me…_

His _pet._ What was that even supposed to mean? 

_…Mama. Just killed a man. Put a gun against his head. Pulled my trigger now he’s dead…_

He wasn’t like _Gabriel._ He wasn’t trying to control him. He wasn’t _controlling_.

_…didn’t mean to make you cry. If I’m not back again this time tomorrow. Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters…_

He didn’t put him down. 

At least, not in any meaningful way. 

He teased, but that was entirely different.

It was, wasn’t it?

The arrangement was _his _idea, for fuck’s sake. _Pet._

It wasn’t like it was abuse. They had an _explicit_ understanding. 

_…too late. My time has come. Sent shivers down my spine, body’s aching all the time…_

No, Crowley knew abuse.

What Gabriel did was abuse. 

_…Mama, ooo-ooo-ooh. I don’t want to die. I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all…_

This was... 

What was it?

_‘What would I be to you?’_

Uuugggh.

Did Aziraphale _want_ to be something to him?

What did _Crowley_ want?

That was the question, wasn’t it.

_…I see a little silhouetto of a man. Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango? Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me. (Galileo) Galileo, (Galileo) Galileo, Galileo Figaro magnifico-o-o-o-o. I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me. He's just a poor boy from a poor family..._

  
Why’d he have to go asking him to, what? Run away with him?

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Crowley hit his head against the steering wheel in frustration and quickly came back to attention when a very loud honk told him he had swerved into the next lane. He jerked the car back into place, eyes wide and looking ahead at the road in front of him. Wide and winding, snaking through the sprawling suburbs. His heart was beating out of his chest. 

Whelp. It didn’t seem as though driving was particularly helping him cool down.

_…Beelzebub has a Devil put aside for me, for me, for me…_

Fuck.

_…So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye. So you think you can love me and leave me to die…_

What he _didn’t_ want was for Aziraphale to leave him.

_…Just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of here…_

What he _didn’t_ want was to be alone again.

But he _was_ alone. He had never stopped being alone.

Crowley was sick of Queen and his head hurt too much. Maybe his heart hurt, too.

He took the next u-turn, figuring he couldn’t very well continue to avoid work. He reluctantly drove back through the rolling hills of suburbs, making his way into the traffic that meant he was moving in the direction of downtown.

Traffic, traffic, little 50’s houses next to big new fancy houses, grass, trees, little bits of tire in the road, discarded fast food soft drink cups with their plastic straws nesting in the ditches, the occasional roadkill.

_…Nothing really matters. Anyone can see. Nothing really matters, nothing really matters to me…._

~ ~ ~

Downtown was a mess to drive in, and it didn’t help that Crowley was still getting used to driving on the wrong side of the road, but he eventually managed to make it to his building. After circling the nearby blocks a few times, he also managed to find parking. The parking was overpriced, but Crowley was too out of wack to care about that at the moment.

When he finally made it into the building, he was greeted by a disgruntled Hastur. 

“You’re late,” he said.

“I, uh, you know how it is, traffic and all, with the beltway-”

“Ligur is out this week, so you will have to check on the budgets for this summer’s campaign expenditures.”

“Er, um. Okay-”

“I would start immediately, if I were you.”

“Right.”

Crowley found his cubicle, which was completely clear of any personalization except for a single succulent on the corner of his desk.

This was good, actually. A better distraction than Queen, anyways.

It took him a while to get into the secure online budgetary platform they used for the campaign finances since he didn’t use it much, but he managed to get in without too much trouble. It did not take long for Crowley to decide that this was not his favorite software, but he ploughed along anyways. 

It was weirdly calming focusing on the task before him.

As he was reading and checking the budget line items, he started to notice a pattern of lines that didn’t make any sense. 

Campaign events and activities were funded by campaign donations, some personal and some large bulk donations from interest groups and PACs. Crowley knew that some of the interest groups and PACs Mr. Dowling accepted money from were a bit questionable considering his stated platform, but that wasn’t the thing that was weird. 

There were lines indicating expenditures for events that Crowley didn’t know about, or contributions to foundations Crowley had never heard of. 

He couldn’t do much to check on the events, but he did a quick google search for the foundations.

Nothing.

Crowley’s heart began beating rapidly for the second time that day.

As calmly and discreetly as possible, Crowley emailed himself some documents and screenshots before logging out of everything and casually meandering through the room, pretending he was going to the bathroom. 

When he had slipped out of the office, he made a beeline for the building exit and, once outside, started all but running to where the Bentley was parked.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he could only think of one person he wanted to talk it over with- whatever awkwardness between them be damned.

If the traffic and general disorganization of D.C. roads were an annoyance before, they were downright Hell now. 

Crowley was feeling a bit panicky and was wondering how he would explain the situation to Aziraphale. He tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up.

Still sick of Queen, he turned on the radio to see if that would calm his nerves.

_“... it is unclear how many people were in the building when the fire started. Officials have stated that an evacuation has taken place and fire fighters are on patrol, checking accessible parts of the building. The historic building houses Georgetown University’s Department of Theology and Religious Studies...”_

Not calmer, nope.

_Shit_.

Crowley began driving very recklessly, trying to get around any slow vehicles. He may have almost hit a pedestrian as he sped towards the university.

When he got to the campus, he didn’t need to know the name of the building or look at a map because he could see the smoke. He illegally parallel parked on a campus street and, once out of the car, started full on running, jumping over stupid little chain lines and crossing through pristine grass. 

The scene outside the building was chaotic, fire trucks and firefighters out on the lawn in front of it, crowds of people that had either evacuated or come closer to get a better look. Crowley scanned the crowd for blonde curls, but Aziraphale was nowhere to be found. 

The panic was ringing in his ears now.

He shoved his way through the crowd to get to the line of firefighters and even tried to shove past the firefighters.

“_AZIRAPHALE!”_

There were arms in clunky gear holding him back.

“_AZIRAPHALE!!”_

Was that his own voice? It sounded distant, disembodied.

“_Azira-”_

He felt his surroundings fading, replaced only by the ringing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Love Does](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13497505-love-does) is an inspirational memoir/Christian lifestyle book by Bob Goff.
> 
> Okay, so remember when I told you guys I couldn’t draw or make gifs? That is still true, ha. But, I am in communication with a wonderful artist about the possibility of them working on a piece for this fic and I am beyond excited. I’m still trying to decide what I want them to draw- I’m thinking about maybe something from the sculpture garden scene or something among the cherry blossoms, but I’m not sure. Do you guys have any thing you would really like to see?


	16. A Devil Set Aside For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I know! Thank you for your patience! Perhaps you can forgive me after you see this [amazing piece](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/post/188480822438/i-am-beyond-excited-about-this-lovely-piece-by) by the wildly talented [madcustard](https://madcustard.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, specially made for this fic!
> 
> Crowley's song for this chapter is [Trampoline](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he4gEgMcQYQ) by SHAED (This song is also weirdly appropriate for the series [Pray for Us, Icarus](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448647), which I read recently and recommend. Either way, this song belongs to Crowley in my brain.)

As soon as Aziraphale had locked his door, he had sent several emails making excuses and gotten his belongings together. When he thought Gabriel was probably a good enough distance from his office, he called a Lyft and left the building through a fire escape, getting the hell off of campus as quickly as possible.

He didn’t get to see Bob Goff.

He didn’t even know about the fire.

~ ~ ~

Crowley had found himself sitting on a gurney, alone in the back of a parked EMT truck with a shock blanket draped over him, when he vaguely noticed the buzzing in pocket. He sighed, thinking it was somebody from the office calling to tell him off for disappearing, which was really the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment.

There was only one person that mattered in the whole world and he really_ really _couldn’t think about _that _because he was supposed to be calming down or something. So instead, he settled for feeling numb.

But the phone was buzzing insistently.

When he finally pulled his phone out and saw who it was, he answered it as quickly as humanly possible, just barely stopping it from going to voicemail.

“‘Ziraphale??” he said weakly. He was still in shock, thus the blanket.

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

“‘M fine. _Where are you_??”

“I’m at home.” Aziraphale sounded completely normal, if a tad perplexed. Waves of relief washed over Crowley. “What’s the matter? You sound odd.”

“‘M in shock,” Crowley said, simply.

“_What?”_

_“_Blanket ‘n everything.”

“Where are _you_? I’ll come to you.” 

“No!" Crowley said a bit too quickly. "Don’ come, ‘snot safe.”

“What do you mean? Where the heavens are you?”

Crowley was silent.

“Anthony Crowley, you answer me this minute!”

“‘M at your school.”

“My _school_? Did you get into a fight with Gabriel?”

“_Gabriel?”_

_“_Never mind, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

It might have been an hour before Crowley heard Aziraphale’s voice outside the truck.

“I’m his roommate. What’s going on?” He sounded out of breath.

“He tried to run into the burning building,” some unfamiliar voice responded.

“_What? _Oh dear.”

“He should be fine.”

“Can I see him?”

Some EMT or someone opened the back of the truck, letting far too much light stream in and half blinding Crowley. Crowley could hear Aziraphale clamoring in and then felt the gurney shift as Aziraphale sat next to him.

Feeling him there felt unreal. Thinking again about him being gone- Crowley firmly shut that thought out before he could start panicking again.

He felt very weak and tired.

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley just nodded.

“Would you- care to tell me why you are here?”

“I-” As soon as Crowley opened his mouth, he realized that tears were filling his eyes far beyond his control. He tried to blink them back, but it was in vain. The more mortified he felt and the more he tried to stop them, the more they came.

He looked away, trying to hide his face, shield himself with the blanket.

He felt Aziraphale’s arms wrap around him and he would have resisted, except that Aziraphale was so warm and it felt so good, having his arms firmly holding him. It felt much more calming than the blanket. Crowley closed his eyes and breathed in Aziraphale’s sweet, citrusy scent, feeling warmer and just a bit more secure.

~ ~ ~

Eventually, Aziraphale ended up behind the wheel of the Bentley.

“Come, dear, I’ll get you home,” Aziraphale had said. “I’ll call a car.”

“_The Bentley!” _Crowley had cried. Aziraphale, having no idea what he was talking about, had had to prod him several times before piecing together that it was one of Thaddeus Dowling’s cars that he had apparently stolen.

It took them a while to find the car, but when they did, Aziraphale saw that it was an old classic car and that it had been carelessly parked halfway onto the curb. Aziraphale knew how much Crowley liked cars. He really must have been in distress.

There was a fat ticket in the windshield, but Crowley insisted that Mr. Dowling would get the bill.

Crowley was in no state to drive, so that left Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was not the most confident driver on a good day. Finding himself behind the wheel of a probably very expensive classic car that, being classic, was not just manual transmission, but a _double clutch_ manual transmission, was enough to set his teeth on edge, but, being in America, he also had to drive on the wrong side of the road, and, being in D.C., those roads were quite windy and confusing with lots of one ways and multi-lane traffic circles. Needless to say, it was the most terrifying hour and a half of his life.

It shouldn’t have taken an hour and a half to get home, but Aziraphale really only knew how to drive manual in _theory_. There was a lot of lurching and stopping in the middle of the road and getting honked at and passed. Crowley was basically conked out in the passenger seat, so at least he wasn’t heckling.

Aziraphale let out a massive sigh of relief when he had managed to park the Bentley in their driveway.

He helped Crowley into the house and brought him straight to bed. He helped him into pajamas and made sure he had water at his bedside.

During the course of this, he managed to find out that Crowley didn’t know anything about the Gabriel visit, but rather had been trying to find Aziraphale to talk about something very urgent and important. He tried to tell him whatever it was, but Aziraphale assured him that they could talk about it later and that he needed rest first and foremost.

The heightened stress of whatever it was must have pushed him to not think clearly when he thought Aziraphale might be in a burning building. Thank goodness the men and women of the fire department had been there to stop him. Aziraphale shuddered at the thought of him going into that building.

Really, all this business about Crowley kept him from considering or caring about all the likely damage to his office. It wasn’t the most important thing at the moment.

Crowley slept and Aziraphale checked on him every now and then, otherwise occupying himself with a book.

It was late evening when Aziraphale went to Crowley’s room to check on him once more before bed and came in to find Crowley awake fully, seeming lucid. He was sitting up, back against the old-fashioned bed frame. His legs were still covered by the sheets and quilt, but his pajama shirt was visible, the black silk clinging to his chest in places with sweat. He looked very vulnerable without sunglasses or a facade of coolness to hide behind.

Aziraphale carefully sat on the edge of his bed next to his legs. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Crowley looked away from Aziraphale at the empty spot in the bed next to him. “I’m feeling alright. Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course, dear.”

Crowley looked up then and Azirphale could feel his eyes boring into him, concern etched on his face.

“You said something about Gabriel before,” he said quietly.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale responded sheepishly. “He was at my office this morning, harassing me a bit.”

Crowley sat up and furrowed his brows, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s, looking like he was trying to choose between expressing fear or anger. “_What?” _he hissed quietly.

“It’s alright, dear!” Aziraphale rushed to say.

“_Where is he?_ I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again,” Crowley said darkly, leaning forward.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear, I don’t think he’s coming back. If he does, you will be the first one to know.”

The ire faded from Crowley’s eyes and he looked down, a bit like a child who knows they’ve gotten in trouble yet again.

Crowley had already shown today that he was capable of going a bit off the rails. The last thing Aziraphale wanted was for him to do something stupid. Well, something else stupid. Anyways, Aziraphale hoped he was right about Gabriel not bothering him again.

“You said earlier you wanted to talk about something important?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah.” Crowley was still looking into his lap. “That’s why I went to your school. I wanted to talk to you... I found something out. About the Dowling Campaign. Something serious.”

“What is it?”

Crowley took a deep, steadying breath and looked up, fixing his eyes on Aziraphale. There was a look of helplessness in those eyes. “They’re money laundering.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the shock of that statement took the air from his lungs. It was the feeling you have when you find out about something terrible on the news and you know the whole country is holding its breath and you know this thing will be remembered and talked about for years, only, in this instance, there was no country holding its breath alongside them. Just the two of them with this raw knowledge, in the calm before the storm, knowing that it’s coming and not having anywhere to go.

“Are you certain?”

“Fairly. I’ve got the evidence from the budgets,” Crowley said, not taking his eyes off Aziraphale. He spoke in a calm, orderly way like he was listing steps in a recipe. “I’ve got to report it and I’ll have to leave my job.” Crowley took a deep breath. “Maybe there will be a trial and maybe I will have to testify.”

“And what if the Dowlings retaliate?”

“I don’t know.” That was the sobering reality that settled into the room. The uncertainty of it all.

“We will figure it out, darling, it will all be fine,” Aziraphale assured, patting Crowley’s hand, though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

“I suppose I won’t be going to Illinois. Shall I stay here? I’m not sure what to do, now.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale questioning, hopeful. “I mean, I’m about to quit my job and I don’t really have anywhere to go...”

Aziraphale hadn’t even thought of that.

“Don’t you even dare think about leaving,” he said, sternly, taking Crowley’s hands in his. “You will stay right here and we will figure it out together. You can get another job.”

Crowley looked at their joined hands. “There’s another thing.”

Aziraphale couldn’t possibly imagine _what_ _else _there could be, but Crowley seemed very serious, so he braced himself for whatever it was. “Yes?”

“Aziraphale- I love you.” He said it with the calm sureness of someone who has known something for a long time. He looked at Aziraphale for a response, and Aziraphale found himself just about at the limit of shocks for the day. He felt dazed.

“Sorry?”

“I love you,” he said again, deliberately. He began speaking again, but his words sped up, nervousness beginning to color his voice. “I know I couldn’t say it before and I said I wasn’t a relationship person and the thing is, I just didn’t want to believe it. But after _last night_\- and then today, when I thought I’d lost you-” Crowley’s eyes were glittering.

“I-” Aziraphale said weakly. He couldn’t form words or sentences. It was all quite overwhelming. He opted to just lay back on the bed and focus on the ceiling. He felt Crowley shift and lay down beside him, both of their legs hanging off of the side of the bed. He wasn’t touching, but he was very close.

“I understand if you don’t want to be with me,” he said softly. “I haven’t exactly proven myself as boyfriend material, I know that. I just wanted you to know.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes.

“You- um- you want to be my boyfriend?”

“If you’ll have me.”

Aziraphale let that sink in.

He was afraid. Afraid of the messiness and the hurt. But they’d been through a lot already and were getting ready to go through even more.

Aziraphale’s hand blindly searched for Crowley’s beside him and took it, intertwining their fingers.

“I think, um, I think I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone call the money laundering? I'm wondering if anyone picked up on why Crowley was freaking out last chapter. Also, the name of the last chapter was for the 8th circle in Dante's Inferno, which is the circle for fraud.
> 
> A note on the car: David Tennant has said in multiple interviews that the Bentley was very challenging to drive.


	17. To Be Worth Knowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention, since I weirdly feel the need to keep you all updated on American politics, that there was a town hall for the Democratic presidential candidates to talk about LGBTQIA+ issues, probably a few weeks ago now. I admit that I have not watched it yet, myself, but if you are in the states and you are reading this fic, I presume you care about LGBTQIA+ rights and can be excited to get the chance to actually hear what the candidates have to say.

As soon as Aziraphale woke up, he knew he had overslept. His first instinct was to panic at being late for office hours, but then he remembered that he had canceled his office hours because of the fire. His second thought was that he couldn’t be in his own room because, besides the tangle of bed sheets and the quilt, the room was far too clean.

He was still in Crowley’s room.

And Crowley was no longer in bed.

He must have already gotten up. Surely, he wasn’t at work, so Aziraphale padded down the stairs in his pajamas to find him.

Crowley was dressed and in the kitchen, making a grilled cheese sandwich.

Aziraphale stood in the kitchen entrance, fidgeting with his hands a bit.

“Oh good, you’re up!” Crowley said, glancing at Aziraphale over his shoulder as he flipped his sandwich. “Do you want a sandwich?”

“Is it lunch time already?”

“Well, not quite, but I have been awake for quite a while. And you did sleep rather late. It’s no trouble, really.”

Aziraphale _was_ feeling peckish. “Alright.” He sat on a barstool and positioned himself to watch Crowley cooking. “When did you get up?”

Crowley seemed to hesitate before he answered. “Um- probably around 4 in the morning?” he said, almost timidly.

Aziraphale gaped. “You’ve been up all this time?”

“Well, I slept so much yesterday.” He was getting out supplies for a second sandwich. “I got a lot done, though.”

Aziraphale waited for him to continue, but he didn’t seem as though he was going to, so he pressed. “And?”

Crowley turned around to face Aziraphale after putting the second sandwich on the pan. “Well, I wrote a letter of resignation and printed it, then I took the Bentley to the office and dropped off the letter on Hastur’s desk, left my key, and got my succulent.”

“Your succulent?”

“Yes, I had a succulent on my desk. I couldn’t leave it.” It was oddly comforting to know that Crowley cared that much about one of his plants. “Anyways, I also swung by one of those stores that’s open 24 hours and picked something up for Warlock before dropping it and the Bentley off.”

“What did you get for Warlock?”

Crowley turned to tend to the sandwich as he responded. Aziraphale wondered if he was trying to hide a blush. “Just a sketch book and some nice drawing pencils. I left it on the doorstep.”

“That was very thoughtful.”

Crowley shrugged. “Least I could do if I’m going to ruin his life by bringing this stuff forward.”

“Oh, Crowley, you really can’t worry about that.” Crowley didn’t say anything but plated the sandwich and cut it diagonally before placing it in front of Aziraphale. He started on his own sandwich standing at the counter across the breakfast bar, biting off a corner.

Aziraphale took a bite of his sandwich and was quite pleasantly surprised. “This is scrumptious, darling!” He ought to ask Crowley to make him sandwiches more often.

“It’s the butter,” Crowley said.

“Butter?”

“That’s what makes it taste so good- lots of butter.”

“Oh! You are brilliant!” Aziraphale exclaimed, as he tucked into the sandwich.

“Yeah, I’m a regular Paul Hollywood,” Crowley said sarcastically.

Aziraphale paused mid bite. “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is, dear.”

Crowley gave him a look of incredulity. “_What_? Are you even British? Have you ever owned a television?”

Aziraphale smiled and wiggled in his seat, amused.

Crowley’s look of shock was replaced by a look of suspicion. “You are pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale just shrugged and continued eating through his smile.

“You bastard,” Crowley said, sounding impressed.

“I am no such thing!” Aziraphale exclaimed playfully, making a show of being offended.

“You _are _and I love you even more for it,” Crowley said, leaning forward across the breakfast bar and gently pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. Aziraphale closed his eyes and hummed happily in response, wiggling once more.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and became serious then. “Crowley,” he said, looking fiercely at him. “I know I didn’t say anything yesterday, I mean, when you made your declaration...”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Crowley said quickly, cutting Aziraphale off. “I won’t say it if you don’t want me to. I mean, do you still want to, well, you know...?” Crowley seemed nervous. His eyes were wide and hopeful, and he still had a grilled cheese half in his hand.

“Yes. Very much so. I just-” Aziraphale looked down at his sandwich, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say. He pushed forward without looking up. “Yesterday was such an emotional day. I wasn’t sure, well, if you would feel the same way today.”

Aziraphale sensed Crowley coming around the breakfast bar to sit in the stool next to him. He had his knees turned towards Aziraphale and was nervously running his hands up and down the denim on his thighs.

“Aziraphale,” he said, “I know I’ve been pretty shit to you, and I don’t really have an excuse for that.” Aziraphale placed his sandwich on his plate and turned, covering Crowley’s hands with his own and stopping his nervous movement.

“You haven’t been shit to me. And if you have, I’ve been equally so to you,” Aziraphale said, looking at their hands.

“Okay, well _that’s _impossible, but that’s beside the point,” Crowley said impatiently. “What I am trying to say is I didn’t start loving you yesterday. I have loved you for a long time, probably since before the wedding, I was just too afraid to admit it.”

Aziraphale took his hands back in shock and looked up at Crowley, puzzled. “Since before the wedding?”

“Well, I’m not sure when it started,” Crowley said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I was attracted to you pretty early on, probably since I saw you wearing all of your stupid animal patterned clothes, which I didn’t possibly think I could find attractive, but here we are.”

Aziraphale looked down, blushing and trying to conceal a smile. “I’ll have you know, those are all very nice brands...”

“I know,” Crowley said, laughing. “You dress like you are in an American fraternity. America suits you.”

“I liked you back then, too, you know,” Aziraphale continued, still looking down. “But I didn’t think you would like me because I thought you were so edgy.”

“_Edgy_?”

Aziraphale looked up and gave Crowley a smirk. “Well, I know better _now_.”

Crowley looked impressed again, his mouth a little open and his eyes sparkling with fond amusement. He blinked a few times and looked away, pulling himself together. “Well, _anyways, _I will never be able to make my point if you keep interrupting me.”

“Go on, then.”

Crowley took a moment and breathed deeply before looking at Aziraphale and continuing hesitantly. “Do you remember that night when you were talking about God and the Divine?” Aziraphale gave a befuddled nod. Now he really didn’t know where Crowley was going. “Well, I didn’t really know what you were talking about. You know I don’t really believe in that stuff. But then I spent more time with you, and I would see the way you light up when you smile, and I know it was a joke, but you started to feel like my personal angel. And I still didn’t believe in God or angels, but I thought maybe, you know, maybe I knew what you were talking about. It took me a while to realize that maybe this is just what love feels like.”

Aziraphale felt tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh _Crowley._”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” Crowley rushed to say. “I know I’m not really the best person.”

“Crowley, you are a wonderful person,” Aziraphale said, looking into Crowley’s eyes unable to hold back the tears. “And I love you very, very much.”

Aziraphale barely even got the sentence out before Crowley was kissing him. Urgent at first and then soft as Aziraphale responded.

Aziraphale felt something like relief and comfort and home. It was a bit awkward and uncomfortable- their knees were pressed against each other and the barstool felt too harsh and angular, but Crowley’s hands were gently cradling Aziraphale’s jaw and then Crowley was standing and lifting Aziraphale’s face up without breaking their kiss and he was pressing closer, his legs shifting forward so that he was close to straddling one Aziraphale’s still seated ones. Aziraphale broke away to catch his breath and Crowley continued, pressing soft, gentle kisses to the top of Aziraphale’s head and his cheeks and forehead.

“_Crowley_...” Aziraphale said breathlessly.

“Hmm?” Crowley stopped and looked at Aziraphale, who reached up and lightly traced his jaw with the backs of his fingers.

“Did you want to...?” Aziraphale was feeling dazed like he had the previous night, but this time it was a different kind of dazed. He felt that his face must be pink.

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“I know, dear. But you did get me rather flustered.”

“Right.”

They went back up to Crowley’s room, which was actually a bit of a mess since Aziraphale didn’t make the bed.

In a testament to how much newfound trust he had in Crowley, Aziraphale let him take control for once.

He had never felt so thoroughly loved.

~ ~ ~

“Oh no!” 

Aziraphale’s exclamation startled Crowley from his comfortable position nestled on his chest.

“What?” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale in concern. They had been cuddling quite contentedly on Crowley’s neatly made bed, but the exclamation made Crowley think Aziraphale had thought of yet another complication among all of the crazy things that were going on in their lives.

“We left the sandwiches! We didn’t even finish them!”

“Oh.” Breathing a sigh of relief, Crowley settled back onto Aziraphale’s chest with closed eyes, squeezing his arm around his torso underneath his open pajama shirt. “Well, that’s alright,” he said sleepily. “I can make more or we can have a proper meal.”

“What do you mean? We have perfectly good sandwiches downstairs,” Aziraphale said stubbornly.

This got Crowley’s attention. He propped himself up, his forearms resting on either side of his angel, and fixed Aziraphale with a resolute stare.

“You aren’t seriously considering eating a cold, half eaten grilled cheese sandwich, are you?”

“Why not?”

“No,” Crowley asserted. “They weren’t even that good to begin with.”

Aziraphale crinkled his eyes sadly and pouted. Crowley sighed and kissed Aziraphale’s forehead.

“You are completely ridiculous,” Crowley said.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“You like it.”

Crowley felt himself smiling. “Maybe.” Aziraphale tilted his head, stretching up and puckering his lips, wordlessly asking for kisses. Crowley obliged, meeting those lips gently and receiving hands on his face and an insistent response.

But then Aziraphale pulled away abruptly. “Hold on!” he said excitedly, gently nudging Crowley off him and slipping off the bed to a standing position. Crowley was left sprawled out and confused across his bed. “I’ve got something for you. I’ll be right back.” He looked good in just his pajama shirt and boxers. He leaned over the bed towards Crowley and kissed him on the top of his head before scurrying out of the room.

Crowley felt suddenly very cold and vulnerable, alone on the bed in just black boxer briefs, and momentarily considered crawling under the covers, but he had already made his bed and didn’t want to _unmake_ it, so he just pulled his knees to his chest and waited.

After a little while, Aziraphale returned, shyly presenting a red and black snake plushie from the doorway. 

“I got this for you a while ago for Christmas- I never had the chance to give it to you,” Aziraphale said, a bit of nervousness in his voice.

“You got me a Christmas present?” Crowley said, looking at Aziraphale from the bed in surprise.

“Well, yes, we were meant to spend it together and all...” Aziraphale trailed off. 

Crowley beckoned for Aziraphale to come back to the bed and he did, sitting along the side and handing the plushie to Crowley. He balanced it on his knees to take a good look at it.

Crowley wanted to cry but he had no tears left. It was just a gift store item, probably not even made in the United States. The only evidence that it had any meaning at all was the standard “National Zoo” lettering along the snake’s tail, which Crowley gently ran over with his fingers. It was such a small thing, and yet, Crowley was so filled with emotion, he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

“Aziraphale, let’s get married.” He said it without thinking, still looking at the snake, but as soon as it had been said, he knew it was what he wanted.

“_Married?_” Aziraphale replied in shock. “Isn’t that a little fast?”

Crowley set the snake aside and scooted to the edge of the bed, positioning himself next to Aziraphale so that their legs were touching. Aziraphale appeared dumbfounded, but Crowley mustered up his sincerest expression and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, hands resting gently on his leg. “Not if you’re certain.”

Aziraphale blushed furiously and looked away. “Darling, you have had quite a couple of days.”

“I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life,” Crowley said, and he meant it.

Aziraphale glanced at him hesitantly.

Crowley continued in a rush of breath. “I’ll wait. However long you need. And then, when you are ready, we’ll had a great big wedding with Latin music and two bands and fru fru cocktails-” that got a chuckle out of Aziraphale, though he still wasn’t quite looking at Crowley.

“Those cocktails were not fru fru-”

“And we’ll have it on Christmas Day and we will spend every Christmas together and we’ll get us some kids-” Aziraphale looked at Crowley in even further alarm then, if that was possible.

“_Kids_?”

“Well, we don’t have to decide on that one now,” Crowley rushed out. “That part doesn’t matter. Not as long as I get to be with you.”

Aziraphale seemed to be at a loss for words, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Crowley had been word vomiting, hadn’t he?

He was scaring him away.

Crowley hoped he would say something.

After a while, he did.

He was looking away, and his voice was soft and shy. “I didn’t know you wanted any of that stuff.”

Crowley was probably just as surprised as anyone. “I didn’t know I wanted it either.”

“You said you didn’t think you could.”

“I did,” Crowley said simply. _“You_ said it would be nice to have that bit figured out.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I would get married willy nilly.” Aziraphale was wringing his hands in front of him. “It is not a decision to be made rashly. These things need time.”

“Okay. Understood.”

“Good.” Aziraphale gave a stern nod and let his hands fall.

“Can I still tell you I love you?”

Aziraphale’s expression softened. He gave a shy side-glance and nodded slowly. 

“Good. Because I do.”

Aziraphale found Crowley’s waist and tugged lightly without making eye contact. Crowley smiled and found himself climbing gently onto Aziraphale’s lap and kissing him again. 

Aziraphale pulled away with his head still tilted up and his eyes still closed. “Lunch?” he said.

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought the love confessions were over! Ha. I hope you are happy, I'm making myself sick and I wrote it. 
> 
> This leaves just one chapter for a resolution on the Dowling Scandal- oof. And fluff, because, come on now. (Two more explicit chapters if you are following along with the companion piece.)
> 
> Personal side note: My partner and I have very different ideas about how long it is appropriate to save food. I would totally eat a cold half eaten grilled cheese sandwich, whereas my partner thinks a week is too long to save leftovers in the fridge. Perhaps we are both on the extremes of this issue.
> 
> Update: there is an explicit deleted scene to go with this chapter, now available [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772515/chapters/50500193)


	18. Ineffable Husbands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a lovely and spooky Halloween last night and/or will have fun this weekend! (Please be safe, and if you are drinking, do so responsibly: we wouldn't want anyone waking up next to their hereditary enemy ;P)
> 
> I made a playlist for the fic, which you can find on spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/ccdugpg463i3hr2xrkiawonkt/playlist/2A5Tfr7h3G2P3zU4NvqH48?si=F6hhyrP4TDKqp_v-qSVfqw). It is mostly pop (sorry, I like pop!)

The following weeks and months were a blur of pain and suffering in regards to the whole Dowling scandal. Crowley _did_ have to testify, which was horrendous in of itself, and, on top of it, Crowley received a not insignificant amount of public backlash via cyber harassment throughout the whole ordeal. There was what was directed at him, and then there was what was also just floating around all on its own. Viral posts and articles and commentary from T.V. personalities and whatever else.

Really, how was it that so many people couldn’t believe a politician, even one they supported, was capable of fault?

Even more than the personal attacks Crowley had to dodge, it was sickening how much of the news cycle the whole thing took up.

And yet, it was impossible to look away.

Of course, all of the far-right pundits were cheering that there was a Democrat to use as a punching bag to deflect attention from the latest cabinet scandal or Twitterstorm event. The more moderate news sources had to do their due diligence, as well. It might have even made it into an SNL skit, but Crowley was too close to the thing to watch just yet.

Aziraphale had to keep reminding him to stay off of his devices. Except for the job applications and resume and cover letter writing. Because he was unemployed. Which was just fantastic.

Crowley really wished Thaddeus Dowling hadn’t done it. He hated Ligur for being an accomplice and whoever else was in the know. He didn’t regret his decision to come forward, but the political ramifications were frightening. Crowley wasn’t a praying man, and yet he prayed that the existing deluge of presidential scandals was enough that this practically insignificant one, in the real scheme of things, didn’t trickle up to the much more significant election coming up.

The only saving grace of the situation was the timing: it was early enough in the primary season that the seat was still safe, in all likelihood, and this would probably (hopefully) blow over by summer.

Well, the other saving grace was that the Dowlings did _not _retaliate against Crowley. Thaddeus Dowling’s plunge in the polls, coupled with the very public divorce proceedings, must have been enough to keep him busy. Aside from his final paycheck, Crowley had received radio silence from Thaddeus and the campaign. Maybe they were afraid of what else Crowley knew. Whatever it was, Crowley was thankful. His only true loss in cutting off that relationship was no longer having the Bentley in his life.

So, all in all, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was still pretty bad. Crowley was unemployed with very little time or energy to devote to the job hunt and the whole thing was leaving him pretty emotionally drained. He couldn’t have even begun to get through it if it weren’t for Aziraphale. And Anathema, and Newt. He had the best friends in the world. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten so lucky. 

Crowley’s previous concerns about commitment and relationships seemed so stupid now. Having Aziraphale to stand next to him while his life very literally came crashing down around him, well, Crowley couldn’t imagine not having him there. Even if Aziraphale wasn’t ready to hear it, this experience was only confirming that he _never _wanted to not have him there.

He was thinking about just that one night when they tangled together under the sheets on Aziraphale’s bed. The lights were off, but they lie awake, Aziraphale absently passing his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said quietly, pulling his attention from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t you use your first name?” That question came as a bit of a surprise.

“Dunno. Don’t like it much, I suppose.”

Aziraphale hummed softly. “It just surprises me that you would go by your family name.”

Crowley looked at the ceiling. Gazed at the odd shapes and shadows caused by the bit of light coming in the window from the street lights and the occasional passing car. “’S’not a family name,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I chose it. I legally changed my name when I was 18. I didn’t want to carry my father’s name.”

“You never told me that before.” Crowley didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what he _should _say. It had been his name so long- he didn’t even think about it much anymore. But Aziraphale didn’t sound accusatory. He was just stating it, like it was a curious fact. “And Anthony?”

“That’s my birth name.”

“Why didn’t you change that, too?”

“I mean, I was 18. I chose Crowley because of a cool character in a tv show. It wasn’t exactly all that thought out.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale responded. “Well, I like it,” he said definitively.

It was something about Aziraphale. He wouldn’t do or say anything in particular, but for some reason Crowley always wanted to keep telling him things. Lay himself bare. So, he kept going, feeling the tender touch of Aziraphale’s hand in his hair and their bodies wrapped together close. “I suppose I kept it because I didn’t want to erase my past completely. I mean, the kid Anthony is still me and at least that name is only mine.”

“I like the whole thing,” Aziraphale said. “‘Anthony Crowley’. I think it’s very you.” He kissed Crowley’s temple and then nestled in closer and closed his eyes, seeming as though he was ready to go to sleep. “I love you,” he said softly into Crowley’s chest.

“I love you, too,” Crowley responded, like it was as natural as breathing. Even with everything, all the chaos and uncertainty, he closed his own eyes, feeling incredibly content and warm.

~ ~ ~

By the time another December rolled around, the two of them had found a nice new rhythm.

After months of floundering in the job search, Crowley had ended up with a job at a nonprofit, which didn’t pay _nearly_ as much as his previous job, but, in Crowley’s words, ‘at least the people aren’t terrible’. Aziraphale was fairly certain that the internet hate mail had tapered off once Thaddeus Dowling had finally dropped out of the race and attention had turned to other candidates. It seemed the nightmare was mostly over, and Aziraphale was thankful, because it had really been painful to watch Crowley go through it.

As for himself, Aziraphale was plugging along on his thesis, and he seemed on track to graduate in another year and a half. He hadn’t seen hide or hair of Gabriel, which really was a Godsend. 

Aziraphale was also still tutoring Warlock- the fallout associated with the investigations and general news scandal had led to a rather messy divorce, which was _still_ getting settled, but at least Warlock and his mother had moved out into a small, but still very nice, flat in Tyson’s Corner. Warlock still absolutely _loved_ both Aziraphale and Crowley, whether he said so or not, and insisted that they both come over to the apartment to make peppermint syrup with him and his mother.

And so the two of them found themselves on their way to meet Warlock and Harriet in the suburbs of D.C. on a cold winter day.

Since Crowley wasn’t planning on returning to England anytime soon, he had actually bought a car. It wasn’t a 1926 Bentley, or any car of the like that he might have really treasured, but it did the job, and Aziraphale knew he was happy with it, even if he frequently said out loud that he wondered if the car was a good idea, citing Aziraphale as a ‘very fussy passenger’. Maybe he was, but he had every reason to fuss, thank you very much.

“_Breaklights_, Crowley! _Slow down_!”

“I _saw_, Angel. Can you please just let me drive?”

“I just think you should be more careful-”

“Well if _you _hadn’t made us _late_\- did you just turn my music off?”

“It was distracting you!”

“I was _listening_ to that!”

They were whipping past the bare trees and commercial districts full of shoppers. To Aziraphale’s surprise, they made it to the nice Tyson’s Corner flat in one piece. Harriet and Warlock didn’t mind at all that they were late, and the four of them had a very nice time making the syrup and pouring it into bottles. Harriet and Warlock did it every year and usually gave the bottles to members of the security team and anyone else that worked for the Dowling family in some way. They didn’t have any of those people to give them to this year, but Aziraphale invited them to Newt and Anathema’s Solstice-Anniversary party.

It was very sweet seeing Warlock pass out peppermint syrup bottles to the party guests- the same ones that had been at Anathema’s Halloween party the year before. Warlock didn’t bond immediately with the other children- there was that awkwardness that sometimes comes for children of 12 years old- but, somehow, they started joining together in making fun of Aziraphale, and that was all it took to seal the bonds of friendship. Aziraphale was more than willing to sacrifice his pride for such a worthy cause.

This party, however, was really about Newt and Anathema. A year of marriage was quite a thing to celebrate, Aziraphale thought.

“Congratulations,” Aziraphale had said to Anathema, hugging her.

“When’s your turn, huh?” she said while still in their hug.

“Oh, _please, _it hasn’t been that long,” Aziraphale said in a hushed voice, pulling away. He glanced at Crowley, who was seated on the floor across the room, allowing some of the children to draw on him with sharpies. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it. Perhaps he thought about it more than he cared to admit.

They had become awfully close in the past months, and, sometimes, for no reason at all, the love came forward like a flash flood, threatening to spill out of him. But what was more was the love from Crowley, open and plain in its sincerity, in its devotion. There was no question in it.

He could see it: them hand in hand, them against the world. Or, at least, against the bad parts of the world, like corrupt politicians and cruel talk show hosts. He could see them in happiness, too, partners simply going through life together.

But, really. It hadn’t even been a year.

“You are taking him home, though,” Anathema prompted. “That’s big.”

“I suppose.”

  
~ ~ ~

Aziraphale’s parents were retired from long careers for British Intelligence, but they weren’t intimidating like Crowley might have expected based on his knowledge from spy movies. Aziraphale’s dad was a totally dorky university professor looking man who was a history buff and who was currently working on designing his own complex boardgame based on the Peloponnesian War. Aziraphale’s mother was a bubbly hippie-ish woman who spoke several languages, could sometimes go on Marxist rants, and had taken up painting, her canvasses covering the walls of their smallish cottage in Surrey.

Both parents were incredibly nice and welcoming, though Aziraphale’s father did seem to be trying to test Crowley with questions about history and politics. Luckily, Crowley seemed to pass, which was definitely good, considering what he was hoping to talk about with the two of them during this visit.

“You are going to make your fudge this year, aren’t you, love?” Aziraphale’s mother, who had insisted Crowley call her Penelope, had said to Aziraphale almost as soon as he was done hugging her when they arrived at the house.

“If you would like,” Aziraphale responded.

“You make fudge?” Crowley asked in surprise. Aziraphale blushed lightly.

“It’s really nothing.”

“He’s much too modest,” Penelope said over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I don’t know how he picked up these things! I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a pot or pan.” She pulled Crowley into a hug next and helped the two of them get settled with their bags in Aziraphale’s room.

It was a bit odd seeing Aziraphale’s childhood bedroom. In some ways it was barren, but there were still things like old books here and there, bits of Japanese paraphernalia scattered around, secondary school and university photos pinned to a bulletin board. One photo caught Crowley’s eye. It showed a much younger angelic face smiling directly at the camera, taken outside in a school uniform. That face looked familiar and foreign at the same time. Crowley must have been studying it for a while, because Aziraphale came behind him and wrapped his arms around him, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Secondary school wasn’t the best for me, but it was alright,” he said.

“You look happy here.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Are you happy now?”

Aziraphale kissed his shoulder. “Yes,” he said firmly.

On Christmas Day, Penelope wanted eggnog, but Aziraphale suggested they make coquito instead- Anathema had given him her family recipe. The coconut rum drink was very sweet, as was the fudge, but Crowley liked having what Aziraphale made.

Crowley wasn’t sure when the right moment would be, but he knew it had to be tonight.

When evening came, Aziraphale’s parents knowingly left on some pretense, leaving the two of them alone with the Christmas tree, sitting on the plush, worn-in couch, surrounded by the drained glasses and the bits of wrapping paper littering the room. They were sitting catty-corner to each other, along the L of the couch, inner knees just touching.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve got another present for you.” They had exchanged gifts back in Virginia before they came. Aziraphale had gotten Crowley boxers that said ‘Handsome Devil’ and Crowley had gotten Aziraphale a book he knew he wanted.

Aziraphale blinked at Crowley in surprise. “Oh?” he said.

Crowley fished in his pocket for the thing he had had for a few weeks now. When his fingers felt cold metal, he pulled it out.

Aziraphale looked at the thing and then at Crowley, shock apparent on his face.

It was gold with two delicate angel wings along the band.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, sounding calmer than he felt, “I love you.” Aziraphale seemed to be holding his breath; his wide eyes were fixed to Crowley. “Will you marry me?”

“It hasn’t even been a year,” was what Aziraphale said.

“It has,” Crowley responded.

“No. It hasn’t,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“Maybe not officially, but that’s how long I’ve loved you.”

“Are you- Are you serious?”

“Would I have bought a bloody ring if I wasn’t?”

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

In lieu of saying anything, Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Crowley gently.

Crowley pulled away and said the quote he had memorized. “‘Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love.’”

“You know, I don’t think that quote is as romantic as people think it is,” Aziraphale said. Leave it to Aziraphale to be contrarian at a moment like this.

“Why not?”

“Because Hamlet tells Ophelia to go to a nunnery and then she kills herself.”

Crowley thought about that. Frowning, he said, “I never liked the gloomy ones.”

“Let me see, I’ll find a good one. Much Ado must have one.” Aziraphale pulled his phone from his pocket and started to look something up.

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not.” _Stubborn._ After a little bit of scrolling, he said, “Ah, perfect. ‘I do love nothing in the world so much as you. Is not that strange?’ This one, too ‘I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest’.”

Crowley groaned, because Aziraphale was ridiculous, and because Aziraphale _knew _Much Ado was Crowley’s favorite, and because, even though the ring was still pinched between his fingers and he wasn’t sure what to do with that hand, he couldn’t help but to kiss Aziraphale all over his face, causing Aziraphale to release the phone and grasp at Crowley’s jumper. “You, see?” Crowley said defiantly, between kisses. “The funny ones are much better,” he said, Aziraphale letting out a small giggle.

After a moment, he spoke again, softer. “Isn’t there one about being a bachelor?”

“Yes, let me see if I can find that one,” Aziraphale said, reaching again for his phone.

“No, I think I know it.” Aziraphale stopped reaching for the phone, eyes fixing on Crowley in patient anticipation as Crowley thought. “‘When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I would live to be married.’ Something like that, anyways.”

“Yes, I think that’s right,” Aziraphale said, eyes widening in surprise once again.

“In more ways than one. So, what do you say?” Crowley asked. “Are you going to stay a bachelor?”

Aziraphale’s eyes shifted back and forth, looking between Crowley’s. Crowley was still holding the ring up stupidly, but Aziraphale wasn’t paying much mind to it.

Crowley wondered if it was too soon. It probably was. He wondered if Aziraphale would still think it was too fast. He probably would. He wondered if they should have talked about it first. They probably should have.

He wondered and agonized, waiting.

_Should I take it back? _he thought. _Should I say we can wait? _Because, really, he would wait a lifetime. So maybe he was being rash, like Aziraphale had said all those months ago. And he had bought a ring! He had actually bought a ring. That was pretty mad, wasn’t it?

_I should say something, break the silence._

But Aziraphale broke it first, finally, saying, very quietly, “No.”

Crowley wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “So, is that a yes?”

Aziraphale looked thoughtful. “It’s just a promise, right?”

“Uhh. Right.”

“And promises can be broken?”

“Well, sure. Though I hope we don’t break it.”

“Right, but I mean. No rush?”

“No. No rush. It would just be nice to know, you know. That it’s part of the plan.”

Aziraphale took on that stern teacher quality that he sometimes took on when he wanted to be sure he was being _quite clear_. “Because, you know, I don’t have time right now, what with my thesis. I can’t be planning a wedding or anything.”

“Right. Okay. That’s fine.”

“Good. And this way, you know, we can try it on. See how it feels.”

“Right. Okay. So, then… it’s a yes?”

Aziraphale was silent. He seemed to be considering still. The gears were working in his brain, he was weighing the pros and cons. But then, finally, finally, “Yes.” And Crowley was floating on air.

Aziraphale let Crowley put the ring on his finger and then Crowley felt that cold metal against his cheek as Aziraphale was pulling him into an insistent kiss.

For Aziraphale’s part, well, it really hadn’t been very long, and he had never thought he would be the type to become engaged so quickly- even if it _was _to be a long engagement. They would have to tell people, and at least think about plans, and all of that was quite a lot.

But, then again, he had never been so certain about anything in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Ado is shorthand for Much Ado About Nothing. The actual quote is: “When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.”
> 
> Update: There is on final explicit deleted scene to go with this chapter, found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772515/chapters/50693945)!

**Author's Note:**

> What. A. Journey. Thank you all for joining me on it! Your comments and kudos have brought me such delight, and even if you didn't comment, seeing how many people have subscribed and followed along has really motivated to take this fic up a level. You all have made be a better writer!
> 
> Remember when your hearts were ripped out in Chapter 10? Have they been healed?
> 
> I am thinking about writing a sequel, which would have a whole new conflict and would give me an opportunity to write some established relationship stuff and bring in new characters (and comment on the absurdity of the wedding industry, because, if you remember from previous notes, I am in the midst of my own wedding planning), but I am not sure when that will be since I only have a vague idea of what that might look like and I have to do school work some time. If you are interested, subscribe to the series as I will upload anything new I write in the AU there.
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr as [jamgrlsblog](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/)


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